


Key to the Cell

by Emospritelet



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Belle is saved from his abusive ass, Belle makes a new deal, Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold in the Dark Castle, Canon-Typical Violence, Curse Breaking, F/M, Forced Kiss, Gaston is a piece of shit, Hunters & Hunting, Magic, Magical Prison, Masquerade Ball, Quests, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2020-06-28 02:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 40,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19802530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/pseuds/Emospritelet
Summary: Lady Belle is unhappily engaged to Sir Gaston, but has ideas of her own about what her life should be.  Finding a strange book in the library leads her to an even stranger man who just might be able to help.  Or perhaps they can help each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was prompted by a picture from an old book I saw on Tumblr that I thought was probably cursed so I came up with this.
> 
> Yes, they will eventually bang.

The book was very old.

That much would have been obvious to anyone who looked at it, but Belle suspected that no one had done so in a very long time. The book had been on the bottom shelf in a darkened corner, far from the light of the lamps and seemingly forgotten. There was no dust on it - at least, no more than on any other book in the library - and its leather binding was relatively unworn, just a few scuffs and creases betraying the fact that it had been opened and read. The pages themselves were thick and yellowing, the printed words crawling across it in thick, old-fashioned type in deepest black. The title of the book, inscribed on the spine in tiny gilt letters, was _Summoning Darkness_ , and it was this that had piqued Belle’s interest as she browsed the shelves.

The library was large, filled with more books than she could possibly read in the time she planned to be there. Of course, if her father got his way, this would be _her_ home. Her library. Perhaps it would be enough to put up with - the rest of it. Her mouth twisted as she shook her head. No. _Nothing_ would be enough to put up with _that_.

She had already devoured a collection of ghost stories while trying to pass the tedious hours between dawn and dusk, and having finished that, had tiptoed downstairs in the quiet of the night to replace it with another. Setting the old book on one of the mahogany desks, she opened it up. The first page repeated the book’s title, along with an intricate line drawing of what appeared to be an ornamental dagger. There was something written on the blade, and she squinted as she tried to read it, without success.

Belle turned the page, the paper dry beneath her fingertips, and winced as the edge of it sliced into her skin. She automatically shook her injured finger with a hiss of pain, and stuck it in her mouth, the taste of iron on her tongue. Drawing it out, she watched curiously as a dark bead of blood welled up. Glancing down at the book made her sigh. Two small spots of deep red marred the ink drawing there, a thick black circle with strange symbols scrawled within. The blood had soaked into the paper, spreading outwards in fuzzy-edged circles like tiny red suns, and Belle rolled her eyes in vexation as she sucked at her cut finger. Any attempt to clean off the blood would only make the problem worse. Still, it was likely that the book had lain there undisturbed for years until she had picked it up. No one would ever know.

Upon removing her finger from her mouth and inspecting it closely, the cut on her finger appeared to have stopped bleeding, and so she turned the next page. She frowned curiously at the picture there. It was a drawing of a strange hand, open-palmed, the fingers evenly spread. The fingers were long and slender, the curved tips of dark nails just visible, and the wrist was surrounded by a loose cuff of what she suspected was meant to be silk.

Black lines criss-crossed the palm, some thin, some thick. There was a pattern there that she couldn’t quite make out, and she pursed her lips thoughtfully. Lifting the book to get a closer view, she almost dropped it, and the book wobbled in her hands. Belle smiled to herself as the angle changed, and the pattern of lines became a little clearer. She steadied her grip on the book, holding it at eye level. At that angle, the lines became letters. _If I Offer It_ was written horizontally across the palm. Belle turned the book sideways, and nodded as another line was revealed written vertically: _Will You Accept_.

“‘If I offer it, will you accept?’” she whispered quietly. “Yes!”

She didn’t know what had made her say that: perhaps some last, desperate hope of changing her fate, but speaking the words made something shift in the air around her. The atmosphere grew heavy, dense, as though a storm approached, and Belle set the open book down on the desk, heart thumping a little as she glanced around the library. The lights winked out, making her squeak in alarm and plunging the room into thick, velvet darkness. Belle grasped at the edge of the desk to steady herself, licking her lips nervously as she tried to remember the way back to the door. She had had enough of adventuring for one night.

At that moment, a soft light bloomed above, bathing her in a warm, golden glow. The space beyond the circle of light was black so deep she could see nothing, not even the bookshelves, and she shifted from foot to foot, unsure of which way to run. _Walk, Belle._ Her grandmother’s voice sounded loud and disapproving in her head. _A lady walks. She never runs._

“A long time.”

A voice from the darkness made her jump and clutch at her skirts, her heart thudding in her chest. She glanced around wildly, but could see nothing beyond the circle of light in which she stood.

“A long time since I was last summoned,” added the voice.

It sounded like a man, with a touch of an accent that suggested he was from the north of the kingdom. There was a snide tone to the voice, and a hint of amusement. Belle took a breath, and raised her chin.

“Who’s there?” she asked, more boldly than she felt.

“Well, well, well.”

She heard a rhythmic click of boot heels walking a slow circle around her, and turned on the spot to follow them.

“What do we have here?” mused the voice. “Unusual, to have one so young summon me. It’s always noblemen and their ridiculous wars. What ails you, child?”

“I’m not a child,” she said, frowning. “I’m a woman.”

“Indeed you are. And apparently lacking the sense you were born with, picking up that book. A pretty little princess, whiling away the hours by practising dark magic.” There was a tutting sound. “What _would_ your parents say?”

Belle bristled at his mocking tone.

“My mother is dead,” she said curtly. “My father thinks I read too much, anyway. And I’m not a princess. Just a Lady.”

“Oh, _just_ a Lady.” The man sounded amused. “Well, I humbly beg your pardon. What can I do for you, my Lady?”

“Do?” Belle opened and closed her mouth.

“You summoned me, did you not? You spilled your blood and spoke the words to bring me forth?”

The voice had lowered, softened. It was almost a caress, and Belle shivered at a sudden chill, wishing she had brought a shawl.

“I - I didn’t mean to,” she said quickly.

“You performed the spell by accident?”

There was surprise in the voice, and it made her smile, easing some of her fear.

“I suppose I did,” she said. “I’m very sorry if I’ve disturbed you, or - or offended you, but I didn’t mean to - to - _bring you forth_.”

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the rapid tapping of a foot.

“So there’s nothing you want?” mused the voice. “Nothing at all? Not one thing that you can think of that I could help you with?” A pause. “Or - rid you of?”

Belle swallowed hard, licking dry lips. Her skin was tingling, her cheeks flushed. A twinge of something that felt like guilt was starting to bite in her belly, but she ignored it.

“Actually…”

“Yes?”

The voice had changed again, crooning, almost mocking. She squared her jaw.

“I’m supposed to be getting married,” she said. “I’ve said I don’t want to, but I’m not sure I really have a choice in the matter. My - my father keeps talking about duty and honour and the family line, and - and I know he grew to love my mother, and she him, but—”

“You do not love your intended?”

“I don’t even _like_ him!” she said vehemently. “He’s - he’s a _beast_!”

“Ah.” Silence again. “So, you wish to be spared this - unpalatable union?”

Her heart was racing, but she held her head high.

“I do.”

“Then perhaps I can give you what you want.” The voice had grown lilting, soothing. “But you must know that everything has its price.”

Belle shifted on her toes, nervous again.

“What’s the price?”

There was a hissing sound of breath drawn over teeth, the gentle clicking of a tongue.

“I want your name.”

“My - my name?” Belle blinked. “Is that all?”

“Should I ask more of you?” he asked lazily. “Perhaps you think your name means nothing.”

“I - I don’t…” She shook her head, confused by the turn the conversation had taken. “What use is my name to you?”

“That is my price.”

Belle thought for a moment, raking through her mind to dig up scraps she had read as a child, nuggets of forbidden magic she had managed to sneak past her grandmother’s watchful eyes.

“Names have power, don’t they?” she said slowly. “You’re asking me to give you power over me.”

“Aren’t you a clever one!” He sounded delighted. “Magic is all about the balance of power. You have to give a little to get a little, my Lady. It’s whether you think the price worth paying.”

Belle pursed her lips, raising an eyebrow as she made a decision.

“Come into the light,” she said.

There was silence for a moment.

“Why?”

For the first time, he sounded uncertain, and for some reason, it made her lingering fear evaporate.

“It’s customary to shake hands when a deal is struck.”

More silence.

“Brave little thing, aren’t you?”

She didn’t answer, but waited, the tips of her thumbs and fingers pressing together a little nervously.

“If I step inside the circle, the spell will be broken,” he said eventually. “If you wish to see my face, you will have to step outside.”

“What will happen then?” she asked, and he chuckled softly.

“I don’t know,” he said. “No one ever has.”

“Oh.”

Belle chewed her lip, uncertain.

“You seem alright there, though,” she said. “I don’t imagine stepping into the dark could hurt me.”

“That’s what _I_ thought.”

His tone was dry, and somewhat weary, and she could feel her interest grow. What manner of man _was_ he? If indeed he was a man.

“I trust you to keep me safe,” she said decidedly.

“And your basis for this is?”

“If something dire happens to me, you won’t get to hear my name, will you?”

Another chuckle.

“Very well,” he said.

A hand slowly entered the circle of light, palm upwards, long, slender fingers tipped with dark nails and glittering with tiny golden scales. The loose cuff of a black silk shirt was gathered at the thin wrist, gleaming in the light.

“I have a solution to your problem,” he said. “If I offer it, will you accept?”

Belle licked her lips again, and grasped his hand.

“Yes.”


	2. Chapter 2

The warm light around her winked out, and Belle stumbled a little, grip tightening on the hand she had taken. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she could make out vague shapes of things; a heavy table and chair were off to the left, and a standing mirror sent a shaft of reflected blue moonlight across the room.

The hand she was holding pulled away, and she glanced at her new acquaintance. He was not much taller than she, wrapped in a hooded cloak over what looked like leather breeches and knee boots. Belle peered curiously inside the hood, but could only catch the faintest hint of his face, strokes of blue against the black suggesting the line of a nose, the curve of a lip.

“Well,” he said. “That worked, then.”

“Where are we?” she asked. “And why is it so dark?”

He stepped back from her, turning his head and flicking a hand outwards. A ball of fire appeared at his fingertips, making Belle jump in surprise and squeeze her eyes shut. When she opened them again, a fire was crackling in a large hearth, sending out flickers of orange and gold. The man was watching her, still swathed in his cloak, and she clutched at her skirts a little nervously.

“Where are we?” she repeated.

“This is the Dark Castle,” he said, and tilted his head at her sharp intake of breath. “You’ve heard of it?”

“I - I have,” she said, and licked her lips. “You’re - you’re the Dark One.”

“Very good.”

He sounded pleased. And surprised, though she couldn’t imagine why. There were many tales of the Dark One in the books she had read, after all.

“If you’re here, in this castle,” she said. “How is it that I reached you through that book?”

“Ah.” He shook his head, seeming weary. “Many years ago I did something very foolish. The book is my punishment. It’s a prison of sorts, although I can come and go when people have need of me.”

“Then why must you return?” she asked curiously.

“That is my curse.”

He didn’t expand, and she frowned in puzzlement.

“Then - then how did you get here?” she asked.

“Much like you, I expect,” he said. “Desperation.”

Curiosity burned in her, and she opened her mouth to ask another question, but he had lifted a finger, cutting her off.

“But you didn’t come here to talk about me,” he said. “You came to talk about your thorny little problem of an arranged marriage you wish to escape.”

“Yes.” Belle glanced around herself, an unpleasant thought occurring to her. “If you’re trapped here, does that mean I am, too?”

“No,” he said. “You were not cursed. I can return you to your library.”

“Oh.” She let out a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”

“Or something,” he said snidely. “You won’t be trapped with the Dark One, my Lady. No doubt this is something to celebrate, being free to leave the presence of evil.”

Belle raised an eyebrow, not missing his self-deprecating tone.

“I read about you,” she said. “It’s said that you always keep your word, and that you never ask more from someone than they can give.”

“Hmm.” A long finger tapped his lips. “Finally, something written about me that’s actually true. Usually it’s ridiculous tales of me being ten feet tall and having eyes of fire.”

“I read that, too,” she admitted. “But I always thought those were just stories to scare people.”

“Are you scared, my Lady?”

“No.”

She realised it was true, and relaxed her shoulders a little, releasing her skirts and smoothing them with the palms of her hands. He was staring at her.

“So,” he said. “I believe we had an arrangement. You give me your name in exchange for my help.”

“Not yet,” she said. “There was another thing we agreed.”

“Another thing?”

His voice had grown higher with something approaching indignation, and it made her want to smile.

“You said that if I stepped out of the circle, I would get to see your face,” she said.

He snorted, shaking his head.

“It’s not a pretty sight,” he warned.

“I’ve found that beauty can be a burden as well as a blessing,” she said dryly. “And handsomeness can be nothing but a mask for a monster. Appearance means nothing.”

He was silent for a moment.

“You are very singular, my Lady.”

“Much to my father’s disapproval.”

He let out a _chuff_ of amusement.

“Very well.” Slender hands rose up to grasp the hood of his cloak. “Prepare to be repulsed.”

He lowered the hood, and the firelight bathed his face, tiny scales on his skin glittering gold. His face was thin, the nose a little crooked, his cheekbones high and his eyes large and amber. Curling hair reached to his jaw, but she couldn’t see its true colour, though from the way it glinted she suspected there would be streaks of silver in it in the daylight.

“You don’t look so terrible to me,” she said. “Perhaps that’s why you wear the cloak. To appear more frightening than you are.”

“Perhaps you can stop trying to analyse me and give me what I asked for,” he said snidely.

“My name?” Belle put her hands on her hips. “We agreed that would be in return for getting me out of this arranged marriage.”

“Ah yes.” He stepped back on one foot, mouth curving upwards in a smile. “How would you like me to deal with your intended? Evisceration? Decapitation? Turn him into a snail?”

“What? No!” Belle stepped towards him, shaking her head. “Please! I don’t want you to kill anyone!”

“You said he was a beast,” he reminded her. “Should I take him from you only to allow him to wed some other poor unfortunate?”

She hesitated, hands twitching in the air, as though attempting to grasp at something she didn’t fully understand.

“I - I hadn’t thought of that,” she admitted. “It’s true, if he couldn’t have me, he’d have another. Women are all alike, as he’s very fond of saying. I’d pity her, whoever she was.”

“What has he done that’s so beastly?” he enquired.

“Nothing to me,” she said. “Not yet, anyway. I have a feeling that would come after we were married. He’s outwardly very charming when it suits, but it’s all an act. He has no respect for women, or for anyone below his station. He’s callous, crude, vain and boorish.”

“Sounds like every other nobleman in this land,” he remarked.

“He revels in hunting and killing, in starting fights with those weaker than him, in war and battle,” she went on. “He wants to squeeze every last penny out of the common folk on his lands, and cares nothing for starving children or poor men trying to feed their families. He says - he says the peasants are vermin and need to be kept in their place, or they’ll overrun the nobility and bring them down.”

“He sounds delightful,” said the Dark One dryly. “You’re sure about no decapitation? I could make it a funny one.”

Belle sighed.

“I don’t want to be responsible for someone’s death.”

“I’m not asking _you_ to do it.”

“I know that, but the result would be the same.”

The Dark One sighed.

“So, you wish me to save you from this arranged marriage, but not to allow him to wed anyone else, nor harm anyone else, but I’m also not allowed to kill him,” he said, sounding vexed. “You drive a hard bargain, my Lady.”

“Perhaps you should have asked for more than my name, then.”

He chuckled at that, real amusement in the sound, his eyes glinting.

“Oh, I always get what I want from a deal,” he said. “In the end.”

“Then we’ll both be satisfied, won’t we?”

He blinked rapidly at her, then tapped his lips with a finger again.

“He likes war, does he?” he mused. “Perhaps I can use that.”

“In what way?” asked Belle anxiously. “I don’t want war in our lands. It’s already said the ogres are massing to the east. My people have had a hard winter, if war comes on top of that…”

“You said no one should be harmed,” he reminded her. “I keep my promises, my Lady. Our deal stands. I just need to think about it for a moment.”

There was silence, broken only by the crackle and snap of the fire. Belle watched the flickering lights ripple over his face, that finger tapping rhythmically against a soft lower lip as his eyes held hers. Eventually he lowered his hand, the tip of a tongue snaking out to wet his lips, leaving a sheen of moisture there.

“I can give you what you need,” he said at last. “When are you to be married?”

“In two weeks’ time,” she said. “Can you stop it?”

He smiled.

“But of course.”

“And no one will die?”

“Not by my hand.”

“Very well.” She nodded, and put out her hand. “My name is Belle.”

He took it, his palm cool and smooth against hers, and his eyes gleamed.

“Belle,” he said softly.


	3. Chapter 3

The Dark One released her hand, and took a step back from her.

“The deal is struck,” he said. “I’ll release you from this unwanted engagement, and you can go on with your life. Do - whatever noblewomen do these days. Drink tea, and attend tedious balls. Find some handsome knight of your own choosing.”

“You think I seek a handsome knight?” she asked, ignoring the tingle of her skin where he had touched her.

“Isn’t that what every young woman wants?”

“It’s not what I want.”

“Really?” He pursed his lips, looking intrigued. “What is it you want, my Lady?”

“I want to see the world,” she said excitedly. “I want to visit far-off lands and eat strange foods and meet all manner of people! I want to go to the ocean and swim in the sea and talk to mermaids! I want to ride a horse across the southern plains and feel the wind in my hair and run through the grass in bare feet! I want to read books and drink wine and brandy and dance until I fall over!”

“If you drink enough wine and brandy you’ll certainly fall over,” he remarked, looking amused.

“Maybe you could come with me,” she suggested. “A woman travelling alone isn’t always safe in these lands.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” he said quietly.

“Why not?”

“I told you I was trapped here.”

“You told me you can come and go.”

“When I’m called upon to help people, that’s all.” His tone was wry. “Not of my own volition, and certainly not for my own enjoyment. That much was made very clear.”

“By whom?”

He grumbled something under his breath, beginning to pace restlessly, the cloak billowing around him.

“By an interfering, hypocritical _gnat_ who likes to think of herself as a creature of light and goodness,” he snapped. “You may know her as the Blue Fairy.”

“I’ve heard of her, certainly,” said Belle. “She trapped you here?”

“She _lured_ me here,” he spat. “Offered me what I wanted most in all the world, told me it was for my benefit, told me fairies couldn’t lie. Well, now I know better. To my eternal cost.”

“And there’s no way out for you?” she asked softly.

The Dark One let his head roll back, a rich chuckle rumbling out of him.

“Oh, there’s a way,” he said, sounding deeply amused. “One she never expected to work. She threw that in just to torture me, I’m sure. A flicker of light in the darkness, with no hope of bursting into flame.”

“What is it?” she asked. “Maybe I can help.”

He waved a dismissive hand, still pacing.

“I find that _highly_ doubtful.”

“Well, we won’t know unless we try.”

He turned on his toes to face her.

“Forget I mentioned it!” he snapped. “I’m trapped here, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it, least of all you!”

Belle wanted to press him on the possible key to his prison, but decided to let it go.

“Alright then,” she said. “What was it you wanted?”

He blinked at her.

“What?”

“You said she offered you what you wanted most in all the world,” she said. “What was it?”

“That’s _my business_!” he said, his eyes flashing. “You should really be concerned about your own fate.”

Belle rolled her eyes at his tone.

“Fine,” she said thinly. “What do I do?”

He sighed, the anger seeming to drain out of him, shoulder slumping a little.

“I’d better get you back to your library,” he said quietly, and raised a hand.

“Wait!” said Belle quickly, curiosity still brimming over. “You said that it had been a long time since you had been summoned.”

He let the hand drop, fingers twitching a little by his side, as though shedding the magic he would have cast.

“Yes.”

“It certainly looked as though that book hadn’t been touched in years,” she said. “Decades, even. And yet - and yet I’ve read so many tales of the Dark One. Recent tales, I mean. However fanciful some of them were, at least some must have touched on the truth.”

“Perhaps.”

“So - so the book can’t be the only way to reach you here.” she surmised.

He smiled slightly, firelight gleaming on his lower lip as it curved.

“You are a curious one, aren’t you?” he said. “And clever. You’re quite right, the book is not the only way. There is another.”

“What is it?” she asked eagerly.

“Those who have need, and speak my name, may summon me,” he said.

“Your name?”

“My true name, yes.”

“Oh.” Belle thought hard. “I don’t remember ever reading about that. What is it?”

“It’s—” He choked, something appearing to stick in his throat, and growled under his breath, shaking his head ruefully. “I cannot say. Part of my curse.”

“You can’t say your own _name_!” Outrage made her bristle. “Who would do such a thing?”

“The Blue Fairy,” he repeated lightly. “Her way of - limiting my influence, no doubt. Names have power, after all. She seeks to control mine. In every way she can.”

“I see.” Belle shook her head. “I thought fairies were supposed to be on the side of good.”

“A relative term,” he said, in a dry tone, and she sniffed in agreement.

“Perhaps you’re right,” she acknowledged. “I’ve certainly seen evil done by those who claim to be righteous.”

“Besides, I suspect she _is_ on the side of good, in her own mind,” he said. “We believe what we want to, after all. Enough to make it fact, at times. I suspect she sees herself as a creature of light, a true hero. Trapping a monster was no doubt something of a coup for her.”

“Are you truly a monster, or was that something she decided?” asked Belle. “You don’t seem so very monstrous to me.”

“Then perhaps you haven’t seen enough of the world, my Lady.”

“That’s certainly true, but it doesn’t mean I’m not a good judge of people.”

“I’m not people.”

Belle raised an eyebrow.

“Is this a case of believing something enough to make it fact?”

The Dark One was silent.

“You’re very forthright,” he said eventually. “And annoyingly insightful.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He chuckled, his eyes glinting as he shook back his hair.

“I’ve enjoyed our conversation, my Lady.”

“So have I,” she said honestly. “Does that mean it’s over?”

He smiled again, a brief curve of his lips.

“For now.”

Silence. The fire crackled. Belle ran her eyes over him, trying to memorise his form, and when she met his eyes they were locked on hers, grown dark and deep. There was a curiosity in his gaze, as though he was trying to figure her out. She wasn’t surprised. She had been told she was odd for years, after all. Odd enough that she felt more comfortable in the presence of the most ancient and powerful sorcerer in all the realms than with the ladies and noblemen at court. Her heart thumped, her belly clenching as though she was nervous. Or was it excited? The Dark One glanced away, breaking the strange, silent spell that had settled over them.

“I’ll return you to your library,” he said. “I’ll come to you soon. Don’t be alarmed by anything you may hear in the meantime: I promise you no harm will come to your people.”

Belle felt her brow crinkle in confusion.

“But what—”

“Expect to make your escape the day before the wedding,” he interrupted, and stepped back, twirling one hand theatrically. “I do so _love_ to make an entrance.”

“But—”

A cloud of red smoke engulfed her, and Belle closed her eyes. When she opened them again she was back in the library, the lamps sending out their warm, low light. Belle’s mouth flattened in irritation. _He certainly has a flare for the dramatic._ _How do I find out his name?_

She turned to the book, still open where she had left it, the hand there on the page with its invitation written across the palm. Picking up the book, she closed it and held it to her breast before hurrying out of the library and back to her room. Perhaps it would hold further information on the Dark One.


	4. Chapter 4

The sound of one of the maids making up the fire woke Belle the next morning, and she turned over in bed with a sigh, bleary-eyed and grouchy. She had stayed up into the small hours reading the book, and felt listless and heavy-limbed. The curtains were pulled open, making her throw an arm across her eyes with a sound of protest. No one slept late at Sir Gaston’s castle.

“A lovely morning, milady,” announced the maid. “I’ll bring your wash water. Breakfast will be ready as soon as you’re dressed.”

Belle grumbled under her breath. Eating breakfast with Sir Gaston was the last thing she wanted, and she was tempted to stay in bed and pretend she was unwell.

“Milady?”

“Yes, thank you,” she said. “I’ll get up.”

She ran her hands over her face as the maid left, yawning. Pushing up into a sitting position, she glanced to the side. The book sat on her nightstand, and she eyed it warily. It was not the sort of book she wanted to leave lying around: the maids would get word to the chamberlain, who would no doubt tell Gaston, and she had no desire to let him know the book even existed. She would take it back to the library and slip it back in its darkened corner until that night, when she could retrieve it and read more.

The book had turned out to be accounts of those who had called on the Dark One for help, and although she had frowned over what had been asked for and given in some of the tales, all agreed that he kept his word. It made her more certain than ever that she had made the right choice in making the deal with him, though less certain why he had only asked for her name. In all the encounters she had read thus far, the prices he had demanded had been great, and she was no less noble than those she had read of, her house no less wealthy. There were many empty pages at the back of the book, and she wondered if it had its own magic. If her own tale would end up there when their deal was done.

The hot water was brought in a large silver jug, and so she got up, stripping off her nightgown and going to the basin to wash. Chestnut hair fell in a loose braid over her shoulder, and she yawned as she worked soap into a lather. It smelled of rosemary and lemon mint, a pleasant, clean scent, and by the time she splashed water on her face to remove the last of it, she was fully awake.

She went to retrieve clean underthings and put them on: silk stockings with their garters, a fine linen chemise edged with intricate lace, and petticoats tied at the waist. Her own maid had been sick with a fever when they left for Sir Gaston’s castle, and had not yet joined them, so his late mother’s handmaiden Marilee dressed her instead. It was an arrangement meant to honour Belle, and she was grateful for the attention, despite missing a familiar face. The dark-haired woman was efficient, but cold, and had little conversation beyond extolling the virtues of the castle and its owner. Sir Gaston was more than capable of doing that on his own.

She chose a dress in green silk, a lighter hue in the bodice and skirt over a darker petticoat. It suited her pale skin and reddish-brown hair, and she gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were a little hollowed from lack of sleep, dark shadows beneath them, and she sighed to herself as she anticipated the comments she would receive. Perhaps she could pass it off as pre-wedding nerves. She had plenty of those, after all. The fact that her anxiety over the approaching nuptials were not currently uppermost in her mind was entirely down to the true reason for her lack of sleep. She was chewing her lip distractedly, and a blush rose in her cheeks as she realised that her thoughts had strayed to a darkened room in a far-off castle, and its intriguing inhabitant.

“A fine day, milady,” observed Marilee, as she put the finishing touches to Belle’s hair, and Belle started a little, her blush deepening.

“Yes. I thought I might walk in the gardens.”

“I’ll have your parasol sent down, in that case.”

“Thank you.” She eyed the book on her nightstand nervously. “Has Sir Gaston said what his plans for today are?”

“I believe he intends to take Sir Maurice hunting.”

“Good.” Belle wanted to sag in relief. That would take at least six hours. Possibly all day, if the deer ran fast enough. “I mean - I mean that will make them both happy, I’m sure.”

“If you tell me which gown you intend to wear to the ball, I’ll ensure it is pressed and ready.”

Belle wanted to groan. _The ball_. It was in two days’ time, a traditional celebration to mark the start of the hunting season. She couldn’t help feeling as though she was the quarry. It would give Sir Gaston the chance to show off his bride-to-be to the local nobility, and it was rumoured that the King and his son would be attending. She hoped Gaston wouldn’t drink too much; it made his unpleasant side - his true side - come out. Perhaps there would be someone there she could talk to for at least some of the evening. Prince James seemed a decent sort of man, from what she knew of him.

“I’ll wear the gold,” she said.

“Very good, milady.”

A last pin slid into place.

“Thank you, that’s perfect,” said Belle, turning her head this way and that.

“I believe breakfast is being served, milady.”

“I’ll go down.”

She waited until Marilee had swept out, stately and serene in her black dress, and hurried to snatch up the book from beside her bed. Hugging it to her chest, she made her way downstairs, sneaking to the library and sliding it onto the dark space on its shelf. Smoothing her skirts with nervous hands, she made her way to the breakfast room.

“Ah, good morning, my dear!” said Sir Maurice heartily, from his place at Gaston’s side. He was looking a little flushed, no doubt from the brandy he had consumed the night before, coupled with the warmth of early autumn.

Gaston was a tall, powerfully-built man with dark hair and chiselled features that she imagined most women would find attractive. He took her hand to kiss it, blue eyes fixed on hers as he straightened up.

“Did you sleep well, my Lady?” he asked. “You look tired.”

“I slept poorly,” she admitted, taking her seat opposite her father.

“Wedding nerves, I expect,” he said jovially. “Not long to go until we’re man and wife, Belle. No need for nerves - I won’t change my mind at this late stage.”

 _More’s the pity._

“I’m sure you’re right,” she murmured, and reached for the tea, hoping they would return to their conversation so she could eat in peace.

Sir Maurice was eyeing her with a faint look of concern, but Gaston asked him a question, and they were soon deep in conversation about the rumours of ogres massing to the east, and distant war creeping closer. Belle listened with half an ear as she ate a pastry, sticky with honey and fragrant with cinnamon.

“Well, once Belle and I are married, we can look to maximise the profits from our combined lands,” said Gaston. “I’ve had my steward go through the accounts you provided, and the farms to the east of the marsh show little in the way of taxes. We’d be better turning the peasants off and combining the plots into one for grain. If war’s coming we’ll need to ensure the troops are fed. I can put some of my men in charge.”

“And where do the farmers go?” asked Belle. “Those plots are all they have to feed their families.”

The two men glanced at one another, as though surprised she had spoken. Gaston turned back to face her.

“When war comes, any men and strong boys would be pressed into King George’s army anyway,” he said. “The women and children - well, they wouldn’t be able to run the farms alone, would they? We’d be doing them a favour.”

“By making them destitute?”

“They can go to the citadel,” he said dismissively. “There’s always a need for cheap labour. Particularly if war is coming.”

“If you won’t protect our own people, why should they fight for you?”

“Because that’s the way the world works, my dear,” he said sternly, his brows drawing down. “Social order holds us together. The strong rule over the weak, and we all benefit from it.”

“Tell that to the homeless farmers,” said Belle tartly. “The strong should _protect_ the weak.”

“Belle!” said her father, in a warning tone, and Gaston snorted in amusement.

“A woman’s softness,” he said indulgently. “You’ll soon see how things are, Belle. We’ll have our own family, and they’ll all need their own lands to rule in time. How will we give them that without protecting what we have?”

“My daughter is fond of children, Sir Gaston,” said Maurice, cutting his bacon and missing Belle’s flat look. “She’ll make a fine mother to your sons.”

“Six or seven should be enough,” said Gaston, reaching for the eggs and scraping all of them onto his plate.

“What if we have daughters?” asked Belle quietly, and he burst out laughing.

“Do I look like the sort of man who has daughters?”

“I don’t think it’s that simple,” she said, and he waved a dismissive hand.

“Oh, I daresay you’ll want one to dress in silks and play princesses with, hmm? I’m sure we could indulge that.”

“You have to consider potential alliances, too,” put in Maurice. “Daughters can be of strategic advantage.”

“As you know, eh?” Gaston slapped his shoulder genially, and Belle suppressed a shudder. “Very well, daughters too.”

“Oh good,” she said thinly. “Lucky me.”

“Belle!” snapped her father. “You’re not at home now, keep a civil tongue in your head!”

“Oh, don’t scold her too hard, Maurice,” said Gaston. “I like a woman with a little spirit. Just as long as she knows when to rein it in. Give them their head and they’ll lead you a merry dance, eh? Like horses.”

He eyed Belle with a grin, but there was no warmth in it, his eyes flat and hard as sapphires. She shrank back in her chair a little, remembering she had seen him beat his horse after he had failed to be the one to bring down a stag. He glanced away, digging a fork into his eggs, and she shuddered delicately. She would not be tamed and broken. Not while she had breath in her body.


	5. Chapter 5

Once breakfast was over, and the men had ridden out for the hunt with a cacophony of shouts and baying hounds, Belle retreated to the library to read the remaining chapters of the book. It told her nothing she didn’t already know, and squinting at the drawing of the ornamental dagger in the light of day still didn’t reveal what was written on it. She noticed that the drops of her blood had disappeared, though, sucked into the paper by the book’s own magic, no doubt. It was tempting to try the spell again, but she had nothing more to bargain with, and no desire to make any more demands on the Dark One’s time than she had already dealt for.

She put the book back on its shelf and sat back in her chair, thinking. It wasn’t the only book on the Dark One that existed, to be sure, but a search of the shelves before she sat down had yielded nothing further on the subject. Belle smiled to herself as she reached a decision. In the months that she and her father had been coming to Sir Gaston’s lands, she had made a friend of sorts. A purveyor of hard to find objects, he called himself, but he specialised in old books. If anyone would know where she could find out about the Dark One, it would be Jefferson.

* * *

Half an hour later she was taking the carriage into town, a tall, silent footman named Marcel and one of the maids, Celine, accompanying her. She knew it was for reasons of safety and propriety, but she missed the freedom of being in her own lands, with her own people. Here she was followed wherever she went, which was why she had begun sneaking down to the library at night for a brief taste of freedom. It felt as though Gaston’s servants were spying on her. As though she were a beautiful bird in a gilded cage, too valuable to be allowed to fly free, however briefly.

On this occasion, however, Marcel seemed more interested in the pretty maid than in her, the two of them sneaking glances at each other as the carriage rolled along, and a plan began to form in Belle’s mind. She kept a sharp eye out as they reached the market place, and once she spotted the shop she sought, she tapped on the roof of the carriage to stop and rummaged in her purse for some coins.

“Here,” she said, handing them to Marcel. “It’s a warm day and the road was dusty. Why don’t you both go to the tavern and have a cup of something while I visit the bookshop? It’s right across the street, you’ll be able to keep an eye on me.”

“We’re supposed to stay with you, milady,” said Celine automatically, but her eyes flicked to the footman again.

“I’ll only be ten minutes,” Belle assured her. “I want to enquire after some books I ordered. Once that’s done we’ll go to the haberdasher’s and the apothecary. You may both accompany me once you’ve quenched your thirst.”

Marcel and Celine shared a smile.

“Thank you, milady,” they said as one, and Marcel got out to hand Belle down.

She shook out her skirts, eyeing the shop she sought. The door was closed, but a bell above tinkled merrily when she pushed it open. The shelves inside lined every wall, and were filled with books, with cabinets holding ornaments and nautical navigation aids. There was a pleasing, familiar scent of parchment and leather and old paper, and Belle smiled as she glanced around, a sense of peace flowing over her.

She started as the proprietor bounced up from behind the counter, dressed in a russet-coloured coat over leather breeches and knee boots, a patterned cravat at his throat and a somewhat battered top hat on his head. Jefferson was a handsome man, with a ready grin and a glint in his eye, and from what she could tell, had a good heart and a keen sense of fun. He also had a young daughter named Grace, who liked to read as much as Belle had at her age, and Belle had given her some of her old books to borrow, much to Grace’s delight. Jefferson beamed at the sight of her.

“My Lady Belle!” he declared, sweeping a dramatic bow that was somewhat curtailed by the shop counter. “I’m _delighted_ to see you! It’s been too long.”

“An entire week, at least,” she said, amused.

“Yes indeed.” He clasped his hands behind his back, bouncing on his toes. “Your frequent visits to my humble shop have not gone unnoticed. Why, only two days ago I had Sir Gaston’s steward come to visit me to enquire about them. Imagine my delight at such esteemed patronage.”

Belle’s blood ran cold.

“He was asking about me?” she said. “Why?”

“Oh, I’m sure your noble intended only wishes to ensure your safety,” said Jefferson cheerfully. “I’m to report back to him what you purchase from me. Romantic, no?”

Anger flared in her, and she felt her jaw protrude, as though straining against an invisible leash. She tried to relax, and smiled at Jefferson.

“It’s a good thing I seek only appropriate reading material for an innocent and fairly stupid woman, then,” she said dryly.

“It’s not as though I would sell you anything else,” he said, pressing a hand to his heart in mock horror. “This is a respectable bookshop.”

“Good,” said Belle seriously. “In that case I want to ask about the books you most definitely are _not_ holding in this shop. In order to ensure - public decency.”

“Public decency has always been a passion of mine, my Lady,” he said gravely. “Tell me of these terrible tomes.”

She felt her lips twitch, but tried to maintain her concerned expression.

“I have heard tales of a sorcerer known as the Dark One,” she said. “No doubt there are books that cover his history, his origins. It would be dreadful if they were to fall into the wrong hands.”

“You won’t find such distasteful books on any of the shelves in this shop,” he said promptly, pointing under the desk and winking at her.

“I’m delighted to hear it.”

“Anything else?”

“I’ve also heard that there are books on magical prisons, and the breaking of curses.”

“A terrible rumour, if true,” he said. “I have no such books for sale.”

He mouthed _you can borrow them_ behind his hand, and she wanted to giggle.

“Thank goodness,” she said. “You’ve put my mind at rest.”

“I should probably check, though,” he added. “Just to make sure. If you return in half an hour, I’ll be able to confirm it.”

“Good.” She hesitated. “While I’m at it, there may be something you _could_ sell to me. Do you have anything on the Blue Fairy? Or on light magic in general? I’m sure there could be no objections to me reading something like that.”

“Let me see what I can dig out,” he said, tipping his hat to her.

“And I suppose I’d better add in something about proper wifely duties, as well,” she said. “That should put Sir Gaston’s mind at ease.”

Jefferson grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

“For managing a new estate or for managing a new husband?” he asked, and she sent him a dry look.

“I’ll leave that up to you.”

His grin widened, and he lifted a finger.

“I have just the thing.”

* * *

When Belle left the shop, she took a moment to straighten her gloves, irritation with Gaston warring with satisfaction at having obtained more information on the Dark One. So. She _was_ being spied on. No doubt to ensure she was _suitable_ , the picture of a subservient, dutiful wife. The _nerve_ of the man!

“Milady?”

Marcel and Celine had hurried over to her, and Belle nodded curtly, smoothing her features.

“I’ll call back for my books in half an hour, once they have been wrapped,” she said. “The apothecary next, I think.”

She walked swiftly enough that Celine had to trot to keep up, and made the rounds of the shops in less time than she had anticipated, but the exercise helped to ease her anger, and by the time they had left the haberdashery, she was calm again. She slowed the pace as they turned into the street leading back to the bookshop, and Celine sighed in relief, hefting the basket of her purchases.

“Alms for the poor, milady?”

A woman reached out to her with a pleading tone, blonde hair tied back from a face reddened by the sun, and Belle drew to a halt, biting her lip in distress. She imagined the woman had once been plump and pretty, but now looked gaunt and exhausted, her faded dress hanging from her, her hand a claw extended on a thin wrist. Two skinny, big-eyed children watched from the shadows, brother and sister, clutching at one another. The girl had a bracelet on her thin wrist, woven from brightly coloured woollen threads, no doubt scavenged from weavers' scraps. It made a strange contrast to her dirty smock and tangled hair.

“Get out of here, go on!” said Marcel roughly, aiming a kick at the woman, and she shied away. Belle rounded on him.

“Do that again and there will be consequences!” she snapped.

“I’m charged with protecting you, milady,” he said. “You don’t have to deal with these vermin.”

“When I marry your lord, these will be my _people_!” said Belle, frowning. She turned back to the woman. "What's your name?"

"Gerta, milady."

“And what has brought you to this sad state? Have you no work?”

“Not since the clearances, milady,” she said, eyeing Marcel warily.

“Clearances?”

“We had a strip of land down by the river," said Gerta. "A herd of goats and some vegetable plots. The Lord’s men drove us off two winters gone. Us and all the other smallholders. Beat our men when they protested, killed some. Killed my husband. The fields have gone to barley for the brewers, the goats slaughtered.”

Belle shook her head, and reached into her purse for some money.

“Milady, you shouldn’t—” began Marcel.

“I’ll do as I please with my own coin!” snapped Belle. She pressed some silver into Gerta’s hand, followed by a gold piece. “Here. That should feed and clothe you all for a little while, at least. Once you feel able, come to the castle and ask for me: I'll speak to the steward about finding some work for you."

"Oh thank you, thank you!" Tears pricked the woman's eyes.

"No need to thank me," said Belle. "You shouldn't be in this situation. I shall speak to Sir Gaston about what has happened to you.”

“It won’t do any good,” said Gerta wearily. “But bless your kind heart, milady.”

She clasped Belle’s hand between her own, smiling a little, and slunk away, the children following. Belle noticed that the boy was limping badly, his lower leg twisted and useless as he shuffled along, supported by his sister.

“They’ll probably just spend it on ale, milady,” said Celine.

“They look too hungry to want to bother with the tavern,” said Belle shortly. “Have many families been driven off their lands?”

The servants shrugged, and she clicked her tongue in irritation.

“What provision has been made for their welfare?” she asked. “Are there soup kitchens? Anything?”

“The brewers set up a soup kitchen,” said Celine. “They were told to take it down, because it just encouraged the beggars.”

“Well of course it encouraged them, how would they eat otherwise?” snapped Belle, and shook her head with a sigh. “Still, this is a matter for Sir Gaston, not you. I need to pick up my books, and then we’ll take the carriage home.”

She stomped off, seething with anger. What sort of lord would let his people starve?

Jefferson seemed to catch her mood when she returned, and made no quips as he handed Marcel a pile of books wrapped in paper and tied with string. Belle paid him, smiling slightly to show that her bad mood had not been caused by him. He was far more reserved in front of the servants, and she imagined it was just as well. No doubt an account of their day in town would reach Gaston before long, and she didn’t want Jefferson singled out for any special attention from the steward.

The ride home was subdued, and once the servants had carried the books and other purchases up to Belle’s room, she announced that she had a headache, and would be lying down until it passed. Celine drew the curtains and helped her off with her gown, and Belle lay down with a damp cloth over her eyes. The sound of the door closing softly made her sigh in relief, but she still waited a few minutes before tearing off the damp cloth and sitting up, reaching for the parcel of books. There had to be answers in there somewhere.

Jefferson had wrapped up five books in total, the top one being a very proper treatise on the management of estates from a noblewoman’s perspective. Belle tossed that aside with a curl of her lip, but after a moment, placed it on her nightstand. If Gaston wanted to hear about what she was reading, let him hear about that.

The second book was infamous, and made her blush fiercely and glance around before turning back to it. _The Lady’s Boudoir_ by _An Anonymous Gentlewoman of Note_ was rumoured to be the most complete compendium of detailed intimate relations between husband and wife. Along with illustrations. After suppressing a giggle at the look on Gaston’s face if he were to find such a book in her possession, Belle resolved to hide it somewhere safe until she could take it back to Jefferson. She had already read it, anyway.

The third book had an embossed illustration of a fairy on the cover, wand lifted high with a blue star at its tip. _A Study of Fairies and Their Use of Light Magic_ , read the title page, and Belle pursed her lips thoughtfully and set the book aside on the nightstand before reaching for the next. It was a heavier volume, bound in battered blood-red leather with gilt letters on the spine: _First Steps in Curse-Breaking._

She was almost trembling with excitement, eager to open up the book and pore over its contents, but the final book in the paper package had already drawn her eye. It was the slimmest by far, perhaps two hundred pages if that, with a plain black leather binding. Opening it up, Belle ran her eyes over the title page: _The Dark One: His Origins and Powers._

Belle clutched the book to her chest, heart thumping, and sent up a prayer to the gods that the information she sought would be contained within. Then she got back onto the bed, wriggling against the pillows to get comfortable, and began to read.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaston is a tool in this chapter

By the time Belle had finished the book on the Dark One and read the first few chapters of the curse-breaking book, it was early evening, and she was hungry. She stuffed the books under her pillows and rang the bell for one of the maids, announcing that her headache had gone and requesting help with her dress. The maid brought her something to eat, too. It was too late for luncheon, and dinner would be prepared as soon as the men returned from the hunt, so she ate a small sandwich and drank two cups of tea, after which she felt much better. She checked her hair in the mirror, and grasped her parasol before making her way downstairs. She needed to think, and a stroll in the fresh air would do her good.

The sun was beginning to set as she went out into the gardens, the drone of bees coming from the flowers as they made the most of the fading light. Pinkish clouds striped the horizon where the sky was turning orange, and Belle heaved a breath of perfumed air as she walked slowly between the flowerbeds. Gaston’s estate had delightful gardens, but she suspected that had more to do with his desire to show off his wealth and status than his own appreciation of them. Certainly on the few occasions when they had walked there and she had commented on the plants and flowers, he had seemed less than interested. She smiled to the gardeners gathering up their tools as she passed, the parasol keeping the setting sun from her face.

The book on the Dark One had been fascinating, but she still didn’t know his true name, and the fact was galling. It had said that the Dark One had been around for centuries, perhaps thousands of years, but that his form changed, the title and its powers passing with the help of a mystical dagger. Belle suspected that it was the dagger with the fluted blade she had seen illustrated in the book she had used to summon him. She wondered if he had it, or if that too had been taken from him. The book hypothesised that the Dark One passed on his powers through some sort of dark ritual, that all those who sought to possess the power were dark wizards of great strength and evil. Belle wasn’t sure how true that was; he had not seemed so terrible to her, after all, but she supposed he would not be called the Dark One for nothing.

There was little known about who the various Dark Ones were before they took his form; the current holder of the powers was rumoured to be able to change his appearance at will, after all. Belle wondered at him describing himself as revolting; if he could change his face, why had he chosen to show her one he appeared to loathe? Overall he was a puzzle, and she was highly intrigued. She only wished there was a way she could speak to him again before their agreed meeting the day before the wedding. There was no guarantee that, having kept his side of the bargain, she would ever see him again.

The distant noise of barking dogs made her glance around, and she saw the hunt returning across the fields to the south of the castle, Gaston’s huge bay stallion at its head. Some way behind him, her father was trotting along with Gaston’s hunt master, and the beaters and kennel-keepers followed on foot, the hounds weaving in and out with tails held high. Belle could see the bodies of two deer slumped across the horses, and several of the men carried hessian sacks over their shoulders, no doubt full of game. Sighing to herself at having to leave the peace of the gardens, she made her way down towards the gatehouse to greet them.

The party had split by the time she reached it: hounds and horses gone to the kennels and stables and the servants to the kitchens. Gaston and Maurice had just dismounted as she entered the courtyard, the horses’ hooves ringing on the cobbles as they were led away. The air was heavy with the scent of dogs and horses, of sweat and blood, and Belle felt a little queasy.

“Ah, here she is!” announced Gaston, in his booming voice. “Belle, my dear! A successful hunt! We’ll eat until we burst tonight, eh Maurice?”

He burst out laughing and tossed a bag towards her. It fell open as it hit the ground, two dead pheasants rolling out, heads lolling. Blood spattered the cobbles, and Belle took a step back, trying to ignore the pheasants’ sightless stare. She met Gaston’s eyes, raising her chin.

“I’d like to talk to you about something, Sir Gaston,” she said. “Would you take a walk with me in the gardens?”

Gaston folded large arms across his chest, breathing in as he looked her up and down very deliberately.

“So polite and formal, my wife to be,” he said agreeably. “The picture of innocence and purity, waiting patiently for me to return. You’ve done well with her, Maurice. Very well indeed.”

Belle’s mouth thinned, but she said nothing as her father chuckled and made some comment about her taking after her mother. She waited, hands folded at her waist, and after a moment Gaston slapped Maurice’s shoulder, making him stagger, and strode towards her. She took a step back, struck by how large he was. He over-topped her by a good eighteen inches, and was twice as broad across the shoulders. She wondered what had made her think of it; it wasn’t as though they were meeting for the first time. No doubt most women would find his size and strength appealing, but it had only ever had the effect of making her dread the wedding night. Gaston grinned at her, showing very white, even teeth.

“To the gardens, my Lady,” he said, offering his arm.

After a moment she put her hand on his thick forearm, allowing him to guide her. She could feel his sweat beneath her palm, dust from the ride sticking to her fingers. It made her want to pull her hand away, but she kept her face smooth, maintaining a steady pace as they made their way towards the gardens.

“I went into town today,” she said. “I met a beggar woman there.”

“I’ve told the Watch to clear the beggars out,” he said. “Leave it to me, you won’t be bothered again.”

Belle frowned.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” she said. “Her name was Gerta. She said she owned a smallholding by the river. She said she and other smallholders had been turned off their land and that it had been given to the brewers for grain. She called it the clearances.”

“Oh.” Gaston waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, I remember. This is what I suggested for some of your lands, when we join them to mine. It’s been a success here.”

“She said her husband was killed.”

“Well, some of them put up a fight,” he said. “My men had to defend themselves.”

“Were any of your men killed?”

Gaston burst out laughing.

“Against a bunch of poor farmers? Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Then they were hardly in danger, were they?”

He glanced at her, brows drawing down into a scowl as he realised she was arguing the point with him.

“I can’t have peasants thinking they can just disobey my decisions without consequence,” he said, sounding petulant. “It’s not like they weren’t given notice to go.”

“Where would they go?” she demanded. “You took all they had!”

“Just goes to show their way of life would never turn a profit, then, doesn’t it?” he said. “We’re producing far more grain on those lands now. More efficient. Those little strip farms produce almost nothing.”

“Well, Gerta _certainly_ has nothing now, she and her children are begging on the streets!” said Belle. “I told her to come to the castle and I’d give her work.”

Gaston turned to face her, his expression incredulous.

“You can’t give every waif and stray a job, Belle!”

“There’s more than enough work here,” said Belle obstinately. “If you hadn’t made her homeless it wouldn’t be necessary.”

“I can’t be held responsible for every penniless whore in the kingdom!”

“You _are_ responsible,” she snapped. “You’re the lord of the land! And these will be my people too, and I can’t stand by and watch while they starve!”

“Belle…” He shook his head, putting his hands on his hips. “Don’t be so naive. This is how the world works. Weeding out the weak is what keeps our people strong. It’s like breeding horses. You must understand that.”

“These are _people_!” she said hotly. “Not - not _livestock_!”

“And why do we keep them here on our lands?” he asked, as though teaching a rather stupid child. “To work the fields and clean up after us and fight in our wars. They can’t do any of that if they let themselves starve, can they? What use are they to us if they can’t look after themselves?”

“How can you be so _callous_?” she demanded, throwing up her hands, and he sighed, grumbling a little.

“Well, if you’re going to be hysterical about it, I see no reason to discuss it further,” he said coldly. “Come inside. Save your energy for the ball.”

Belle drew herself up to her full, rather unimpressive height, lifting her chin.

“I won’t attend a ball with someone who thinks so little of other people!” she snapped. “I won’t stand there and smile and laugh and pretend your values are the same as mine, Gaston, I won’t do it!”

He seemed to swell before her eyes, eyes darkening, face grown ugly with rage, and he seized her by the upper arms, his grip tight and painful enough to make Belle let out a cry.

“You think you can make a fool of me in front of all the nobility of the kingdom?” he spat. “You think I’d stand to be shamed in my own castle by a - a _girl_? Your father already promised me your hand, and I _will_ have it, Belle! I will have you for my own and I will have your _obedience_ , do you hear me?”

“If you expect me to just _ignore_ the suffering of—”

“I expect your _loyalty_!” he said roughly, shaking her, and Belle tried to pull away, tears pricking her eyes as his fingers dug into her upper arms. Gaston tugged her closer, leaning in until his nose almost brushed hers. The stench of sweat and blood from him was almost overwhelming.

“You will attend the ball on my arm, Belle,” he said, through his teeth. “And you will smile, and you will dance, and you will show everyone how lucky you are to be marrying the most eligible man outside the King’s palace, do you hear me? Or by all the gods I’ll make those peasants wish they’d never been born, _do you understand_?”

He shook her again, and Belle squeaked in alarm, nodding swiftly in the hope that he would let her go.

_“Tell me you understand!”_

“Yes!” she squeaked, hating the sound of her voice, the fear in it.

“Yes what?”

“I - I understand,” she stammered, and he exhaled, relaxing his grip a little.

“Good,” he said, more calmly. “That’s all I want. A faithful, dutiful wife. A beautiful woman to support me and to bear my sons. That’s what your father promised me, and that’s what you’ll be. Isn’t it, Belle?”

She couldn’t speak, her body frozen with fear, and he bent to kiss her, his mouth rough and wet against hers, tongue pushing into her mouth. Her eyes flew wide at the intrusion, but she couldn’t seem to move, to push him away. When he pulled back there was saliva on her chin, and she was shaking with shock and terror. Gaston was breathing heavily, and released her arms, taking a step back from her.

“I’ll see you at dinner,” he said, and strode off towards the castle, leaving her standing frozen in place, as though his hands still held her captive.

* * *

Belle wasn’t sure how she managed to get back to her room, but once she was there she rang the bell for one of the maids and stood in front of the standing mirror, still trembling. Turning this way and that, she winced as she saw red marks on her arms where Gaston had grabbed her. For a moment she thought about trying to hide them, but then shook her head at her reflection, raising her chin. She would let her father see the marks. Perhaps there was a way out, even now. Maurice had not accepted any of her objections to the match before, but if she showed him evidence that Gaston had hurt her…

Marilee noticed her bruises immediately, of course, but to her credit, she didn't comment on them. She dressed Belle in blue silk, the colour making her skin seem even paler, the bruises more pronounced.

"Would you care for a shawl, milady?" she asked.

"I would not," said Belle shortly. "Is my father dressed?"

"I believe he's in the library."

"Good. You can just tidy my hair, I don't need it restyled."

"Very good, milady."

Marilee smoothed her hair where it was needed, re-pinning the strands that had come loose, and Belle nodded her thanks. The maid seemed to hesitate before she left.

"Best to give him what he wants, milady," she said eventually. "Easier on you. Easier on all of us. Her Ladyship worked that out long ago."

She left without another word, and Belle glared at her reflection in the mirror, seeing spots of colour bloom in her cheeks to match the marks on her upper arms. _So. No help from the servants, it seems._

She pushed back, heading downstairs to the library. Maurice was looking through a large book filled with pictures of exotic birds and animals, and he glanced up with a smile as Belle strode up to him.

“I can’t marry this man, Papa,” she said resolutely. “I can’t do it.”

Maurice closed the book with a sigh, glancing across at her and looking uncomfortable.

“Now, Belle, we talked about this—”

“He hurt me!” she went on. “Look! See those marks? That was him!”

“Gaston told me what happened,” said Maurice gently. “The two of you had a lovers’ tiff and he got angry.”

“It wasn’t a lovers’ tiff!”

“He’s a big man, Belle,” he went on. “He doesn’t know his own strength. He feels terrible that he might have hurt you, he told me so.”

“Well, if he feels so bad, why didn’t he apologise to me?”

“I’m sure he will,” said Maurice soothingly. “You’ll see him at dinner, and this can all be smoothed over, I’m sure of it. It’s just pre-wedding nerves.”

“But - but I don’t want to marry him!” said Belle desperately. “Why can’t I marry for love?”

“When you show no interest whatsoever in the eligible men you’re introduced to?” said Maurice, his tone short. “I think not. You will marry for the good of our family, as I had to. As every noblewoman in this land has had to. Gaston is not a monster. He’s a fine, healthy, handsome fellow, and he’s extremely rich. Any woman would be lucky to call him husband.”

“Then maybe _you_ should marry him.”

“That’s enough!” snapped Maurice, wagging a finger. “I sometimes think I give you too much licence to speak your mind, my girl!”

“Oh yes, may all the gods save us from a woman with an _opinion_!”

“One more word out of you and you’ll be eating dinner in your rooms alone!”

“Good!” snapped Belle. “At least then I can be assured of pleasant company!”

She stomped out before Maurice could retort, skirts swishing around her legs, and headed for her room, slamming the door shut once she was inside. Irritation made her pace back and forth before the fire, and eventually she strode to the tall windows, opening them out and stepping out onto the stone balcony to breathe in the cold night air in an attempt to calm herself.

The sun was fully set, the sky a rich, deep blue, scattered with stars. Belle leaned on the stone balustrade and gazed upwards.

“Gods, let me out of this marriage!” she whispered.

The stars twinkled at her, bright points of light in the darkness. One of them had a bluish tint to it, and Belle blinked as it grew larger. She pushed up straight, palms pressed against the cold stone, and her mouth opened in surprise as the blue light became a small figure, glittering in the dark. A fairy, wings fluttering behind her. She had dark curls, pinned up on top of her head, and was pale-skinned and pretty, a wand held in one small hand with a blue light shining at its tip. She was smiling at Belle, white-stockings covering slim legs hanging in the air beneath the wide skirt of a sparkling blue dress.

“Lady Belle of the Marchlands,” she said, her voice sweet and melodious. “I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

“You have?” Belle took a step back, unsure how to proceed. It wasn’t as though they could shake hands. “Forgive me, I’ve never met a fairy before. I’m not too sure of the etiquette.”

She dipped a curtsy anyway, and the fairy bowed her head in acknowledgement.

“I’m the Blue Fairy,” she said. “Head of the Enchanted Forest Order of Fairies."

_So this is the Blue Fairy? She's not what I expected._

"I don’t believe you were ever assigned a fairy godmother, is that right?” asked the Blue Fairy.

“Not - not as far as I know,” said Belle. “Is that unusual?”

“Most noble children receive our protection and guidance, but our numbers are limited,” said the Fairy. “Decisions must be made about the best use of our resources. Yours is a minor House, is it not?”

Belle felt her mouth thin. It was true that her House was somewhat diminished from what it had been in her great-grandfather’s day; the lack of sons over the past three generations and King’s wars had not helped matters. She still had pride in her ancient family name, though, and resented the implication that she had not been worth bothering with as far as the Fairies were concerned.

“So why have you come to me now?” she asked, and the Blue Fairy smiled, gently stroking the wand across her palm.

“I sense that you are not reconciled to your coming marriage,” she said pleasantly. “It’s customary for brides to be nervous, of course, but I thought I might be able to help give you some comfort.”

“It would certainly comfort me if you tell me I do not have to marry Sir Gaston,” said Belle.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

Belle sighed, shoulders slumping.

“Then I foresee little comfort in this encounter.”

“This marriage is the right step,” persisted the Fairy.

“For whom?” asked Belle. “For the man who has a - a heartless disdain for his own people? For the man who - who left bruises on my arms when I dared to contradict him?”

The Fairy sighed, fingering her wand and making the light at its tip bounce and weave.

“He is a crude and rough man, to be sure,” she said. “But his is a noble House, and you could teach him to be better. Teach him to be more gentle, more kind.”

“Is that certain?” asked Belle, with some scepticism.

“There are no certainties in matters of the heart.”

“In which case it sounds like unnecessary suffering on my part.”

“You must have faith,” said the Fairy, beaming at her.

“And if all I get for my efforts is abuse and violence, what then?”

“Sacrifice for the greater good is the mark of a true hero,” said the Fairy, smiling serenely. “I see the need in you for adventure, Lady Belle. But there are different kinds of adventures in this life. Different challenges that women can face. Helping your husband to be a better man takes patience and courage. Is that not a heroic thing to aspire to?”

“And what of my own dreams?” asked Belle. “My desire to see the world, to travel, to study…”

“That may come, in its own time.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

“Think of the greater good,” persisted the Fairy. “If you can change this man, think of how many lives could be bettered by it! Think of what you can teach your children, how they in turn may influence their father for good.”

“So it’s not just me that would be expected to teach him how to be a decent person, but also our children?” said Belle flatly. “Where is his responsibility in all this?”

“In order to change, one must first face their own faults.”

“Gaston doesn’t believe he has any,” said Belle. “He never has. Marrying me wouldn’t change that.”

“You may be surprised at what a kind influence can accomplish.”

“In that case, why have the Fairies not sought to influence him before now?” asked Belle. “Surely his parents should have been given this talk?”

“We watched over him as a boy, and his mother raised him with love,” said the Fairy. “We did not anticipate that his own pride and selfishness would win out over her gentle nature.”

Belle sighed, and the Fairy flew a little closer.

“For better or worse, Lady Belle, you will marry Sir Gaston,” she said. “If it helps you to reconcile yourself to the fact, try to think of the needs of others before your own.”

Belle wanted to bristle at that, but said nothing.

“And this is my fate?” she asked. “To wed this - _beast_?”

“Think of it as an opportunity to save him,” said the Fairy soothingly. “True love can conquer all darkness.”

“And who decides on who is worth saving and who is irredeemable?” asked Belle. “If love can conquer darkness, why do I see so much evil in this land? So much - callous disregard for the suffering of others?”

“Pain is part of life,” said the Fairy.

“Only for some, it seems to me.”

“Everything happens for a reason, Lady Belle,” she said. “You must trust in the light winning against the darkness. We all must play our part.”

Belle frowned as she remembered something from her reading.

“True love,” she said slowly. “They say it’s the most powerful magic of all.”

“Oh yes!” said the Fairy, smiling widely. “Powerful enough to break any curse. To melt even the hardest heart and fill it with love. Imagine all you could do with that love.”

Belle smiled to herself, and nodded briefly.

“Thank you,” she said. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“I’ll see you again very soon,” the Fairy assured her. “I’ll attend on your wedding day to bless the union.”

Belle bowed her head, not trusting herself to give a response that would sound genuine, and when she raised her eyes again, the Fairy had gone. She frowned at the empty, darkened sky. _Save Gaston from himself, indeed!_

Turning around, she went back inside, closing the windows after her and drawing the curtains across. It appeared that everyone from her father to the Blue Fairy expected her to marry Gaston. Only the Dark One had promised her a way out, and by the gods she was going to take it!


	7. Chapter 7

Once she had made the decision that no matter the consequences she most certainly would not be marrying Gaston, Belle felt calmer. The approach of the wedding day was a concern, but she told herself firmly that all her research showed that the Dark One could be relied upon never to break a deal. Still, she wished she could talk to him beforehand, to make sure he was definitely going to get her away in time. She wondered what he was planning. If she was entirely honest with herself, she also found him fascinating, and wanted to talk with him some more, especially now that she had finished the book that Jefferson had given her. It had perhaps left her with more questions than answers, and she imagined only he could satisfy her curiosity. Perhaps he would be willing to talk to her again once their deal was over.

Gaston himself had dealt with their disagreement in the only way he seemed to know, which was to sulk until she couldn’t bear it any longer. He still hadn’t apologised, and sat glowering in silence, stabbing at his food and not looking at her, and so she broke the heavy, brooding atmosphere at the breakfast table by initiating conversation. Maurice gave her an encouraging smile when she asked him about his favourite topic - himself - and Belle felt herself cringe as she pretended to be interested in the hunt he had planned for the day after the ball. He grunted responses at her at first, but gradually opened up as it gave him an opportunity to boast about his skills in the field, and the wager he had made with some of his fellow knights. Peace made, Belle could return to her breakfast as he regaled Maurice with tall tales.

She excused herself as soon as it was polite to do so, returning to her room to continue reading the books on magical prisons and light magic. The Dark One’s insistence on a price being paid in return for magic made sense now that she had read more on the theory; she could see why he needed to ask a price in each case. Still, there was nothing that explained why he had only asked her name in exchange for what he had promised, and she wondered how each price was calculated. Was it based on what the Dark One wanted, or what those he dealt with could afford to give? She wasn’t sure either option made any sense in their case.

The day was over all too quickly, and Belle managed to sit through a tedious dinner and watch her father and Gaston get progressively drunker and louder. It only made her more certain of her decision. She just had to get through the next week or so, and the masquerade ball the following evening. Belle was dreading the ball, not least because she would have to pretend to be happy about the impending marriage. Still, perhaps she could spend most of the evening dancing, and avoid too much conversation.

* * *

Belle slept poorly, her dreams dark and threatening, and she wanted to stay in bed the moment the maid woke her, so she proclaimed herself to be suffering from a headache again. It had the effect not only of ensuring she could eat her breakfast in bed, but that she would be left alone for much of the day, and she spent the time reading her books. She was no closer to figuring out the Dark One’s true name, but she was at least far more knowledgeable about magical prisons and fairies’ use of light magic. It was surprising to find that much of what the Dark One had told her about his own magic held true for the fairies; perhaps he was right, and intent was meaningless so long as the balance was maintained.

By the time the sun was beginning to set, she decided she could not put off her preparations for the ball any longer. Laying her book aside with a sigh, she rang the bell for Marilee, and got out of bed to wash and dress. It took two hours for her to be made ready, for her hair to be dressed and studded with tiny jewels and her body to be powdered and perfumed and layered up with silk. The gown she had chosen to wear was a muted gold colour, intricate beading on the bodice. It left her shoulders bare, hugging her torso, her breasts pushed high. Belle wriggled her feet in her heeled slippers. At least those were fairly comfortable.

The last addition to her outfit was the mask, an elaborate jewelled piece in gold and red, hiding the upper half of her face. She had thought the idea of a masquerade to be a strange choice, but in some ways she was relieved; she would not have the chore of standing and greeting all the guests, after all. Music was floating up from below, and she took a deep breath as she stared at her reflection. _I can do this. I can play a part for tonight, at least. Only ten more days and I shall be free._

Belle glanced to the side of the dresser, where the card issued to all those attending the ball lay, thick cream paper edged with gilt, Gaston’s family crest at the top and the hour that the ball would start beneath. On the back were the rules of engagement, which she knew by heart. No revealing one’s name unless someone guessed it correctly, and then only to that person. Talking and dancing with a large number of guests was expected, as were questions about their life and passions, in an attempt to guess their identity. Changing one’s voice was optional but added to the mystery of who lay behind the mask. On the stroke of midnight, masks would be removed, and the guests’ identities revealed.

A thin line had been drawn beneath the time of the ball, awaiting the false name that all guests would choose. Belle hesitated before dipping her pen in some ink and writing _Taliah_. She remembered the name from a favourite story she had read as a child, about a girl who decided she would never marry, and had run away from home when her father insisted on arranging a match. Taliah had disguised herself as a boy and had travelled to the city to become a scholar at the university, and then a teacher. Her adventures along the way had made for exciting reading, and eight-year-old Belle had announced that she wanted to be just like Taliah. Her father was unimpressed, and one day the book had disappeared from its spot on the shelf, never to be seen again.

Belle dusted the card with fine sand to dry the ink and took a final glance in the mirror. _Ready as ever I’ll be,_ she thought. She made her way down the wide marble staircase, one gloved hand sliding over cool stone. The sounds of music and laughter rippled over her, and she took a deep breath as she swept along the corridor to the ballroom. It was already filled with ladies and gentlemen in bright silks and velvets, masks adorned with feathers and sparkling with jewels. Belle handed her card to one of the footmen, who announced her name loudly as she entered. The guests turned to look over the new arrival, and Belle moved swiftly to the long tables holding bowls of punch and glasses of wine and brandy.

She wanted to avoid conversation until she was more sure of the identities of some of the guests, and so she took a glass of punch and sipped at it, eyes flitting across the ballroom. She could see Gaston, easily recognisable by his size, and his bellowing laugh. He was deep in conversation with a woman who she suspected was one of Lady Tremaine’s daughters, but she wasn’t sure. Gaston leaned in to whisper something that made her squeal and slap his arm playfully, and Belle rolled her eyes. Flirting was expected at these occasions, of course, but she wasn’t in the mood for it.

Her father was nearby, talking to a man by whose voice and bearing she thought was King George. A young man stood by his side, a mask in blue and gold hiding most of his face, whom she suspected would be Prince James. His attention appeared to be on a dark-haired woman in a white dress and mask edged in silver and topped with white feathers, talking and laughing with another young woman. Belle sipped at her punch, smiling as two ladies in pink and green dresses which clashed spectacularly hurried past, arm-in-arm and giggling. The two clearly knew one another, and the blonde hair of one of them made Belle suspect Lady Ella was enjoying her first formal ball since becoming engaged to Prince Thomas. The music changed, and the guests hurried to put down their glasses in preparation to begin the dancing. Belle sighed as she glanced around for a partner. _Time to do my duty._

“My Lady?”

Belle turned at the sound of a man’s voice, eyes narrowing curiously. The man who had greeted her was short, not much taller than she, and thin, with tight-fitting breeches in soft black leather beneath a gold brocade waistcoat and cream silk shirt, a close-fitting coat in blood-red velvet over the top. His hair was worn longer than was fashionable, brushing the collar of his coat, streaks of silver in amongst the brown. Something tugged at her mind, a flash of memory, and she found her curiosity grow. The man bowed, arms spreading outwards, and he gazed up at her with deep brown eyes behind his red and gold mask.

“May I have this dance?” he asked.

There was an accent there, a slight burr to his voice, and she felt that tickle of memory again. Setting down her glass of punch, she took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the floor as the music started up. His hand was warm at her waist, and he began turning her through the dance, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. She realised that the colours of his outfit matched her own perfectly, as though it had been planned that way, though she couldn’t see how. There was a flash of colour at his wrist, a bracelet clumsily woven from coloured threads, its rough presence somewhat incongruous against the cream silk cuff of his shirt, and she wondered whether it was a clue to his identity. Belle studied his face, noting the fine lines around his mouth which, along with the silver streaks in his hair, indicated he was in his middle years. She mentally discounted a number of noblemen she knew.

“I believe we’re supposed to guess each other’s name,” she said, and he smiled.

“Oh, for my part that’s easy enough,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Lady Belle.”

His eyes were fixed on hers, dark and intense, and she felt her own widen as she recognised something in them. Something she remembered from a darkened room and a deal made for her freedom. 

“You!” she whispered. “It’s you!”

“That is not guessing my name,” he said, with a touch of severity, the snide tone she remembered returning to his voice. “That is merely stating a fact.”

Belle giggled a little, feeling his hand tighten on hers as he turned her around.

“Well, as I haven’t been given your name, sir, you have me at a disadvantage,” she said. “You didn’t look this way when we met. Changing your entire _face_ is against the spirit of the masquerade, you know.”

“This is merely a glamour,” he said, in a dry tone. “I suspect my true appearance would cause something of a panic.”

“Not to me,” she said. “How did you get here? I don’t recall sending an invitation to the Dark Castle.” 

He gave a wry smile.

“I was called on by a desperate soul, of course,” he said.

“At Gaston’s ball?” she said, amused. “I know I’ve been dreading the occasion, but it’s not something that requires magical assistance to escape.”

He grumbled, casting what seemed to be a critical eye over the dancers.

“Well, not something that any of your guests would care about, I suspect,” he said. “A poor peasant woman, robbed of the last few coins she had to feed her children. Desperate indeed.”

“That’s terrible!” said Belle, upset. “Were you able to help her?”

“Of course,” he said lightly. “She asked for little. A roof over her head, enough food to keep her and her children alive through the winter. All three are, as we speak, in a small cottage on the edge of town, no doubt with full bellies for the first time in months.”

“Good.”

“Along with an admonition to keep her coins out of sight in the future,” he added. “It’s not wise to show gold in some parts of the town. Not the parts she was living in, anyway. Little wonder she was robbed.”

Belle stopped suddenly, causing a nearby couple to side-step swiftly to avoid a collision. A dreadful thought came to her as she eyed the woven bracelet at his wrist.

“Gerta,” she said slowly. “Her name was Gerta.”

“You know her, my Lady?” He sounded surprised.

“I - I gave her the money,” admitted Belle. “She was begging in the town two days ago, I - I only wanted to help!”

“And so you did,” he said soothingly, pulling her into the dance again. “She’s well. She and her children. The boy no longer limps.”

Belle caught at her lip, emotion welling up within her.

“That - that was very kind of you.”

“Don’t say that!” he snapped. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

Belle giggled.

“Yes, I’m sure providing charity for widows and orphans will simply _destroy_ it.”

“She asked for the Dark One’s help,” he said defensively. “I never break a deal.” 

“And what did you ask in return?”

The Dark One leaned in, lips almost brushing her ear, sending a shiver through her body.

“All that they had in the world,” he hissed malevolently.

“Well, I happen to know they had nothing,” said Belle, unfazed.

He straightened up, smiled a little ruefully, and nodded to the bracelet of coloured threads at his wrist.

“Really?” said Belle, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Her daughter’s homemade bracelet?”

“As you said, they had nothing else,” he said carelessly. “Besides, I have no need of gold.”

“Hmm.” Belle eyed him. “I think you’re not as dark as you want people to believe.”

He grinned, baring his teeth as he pulled her tighter against him.

“Maybe I’m darker.”

“If that were true, you’d have left them to starve,” she said, trying to ignore the way her heart thumped at the press of his body. “You certainly didn’t have to fix the boy’s limp. That wasn’t part of your deal.”

“If I hadn’t, he would only have been a burden on his mother,” he said, sounding affronted. “What would have been the point of me saving them if they just die more slowly? I don't have time to run around the kingdom saving waifs and strays every five minutes.”

“Hmm,” said Belle, lips pursing. “And here you told me you were evil.”

He pulled her a little closer, leaning in so that his lips brushed her ear.

“Oh, I am, dearie,” he whispered, making her shiver. “There are different kinds of darkness in this world. I could make that odious lump you’re promised to peel off his skin and dance until he dropped. I could turn the wine to poison and wipe out this entire ballroom. But oppression, exploitation and neglect: those are the weapons of your kind, not mine.”

Belle frowned, hand tightening on his shoulder a little, but after a moment she nodded reluctantly.

“I suppose in all too many cases that’s true,” she admitted. “But why would the Dark One care?”

He was silent for a moment, turning her around with a sudden whisk of his arm, making her cling on a little tighter.

“Magic is all about balance, whatever your intentions for the use of that magic might be,” he said eventually. “Give and take. If I didn’t try to keep that balance what sort of sorcerer would I be? Besides, no parent should have to choose between feeding their children or healing them.”

His eyes left hers for a moment, his gaze far away, and Belle wondered what he was thinking. She suspected that his final line, delivered in a flippant tone, represented his true feelings on the subject, but she doubted he would open up further.

“You were never a noble, were you?” she said. “You seem to have nothing but contempt for my kind.”

“Well, don’t feel too bad, I generally feel contempt for most people.”

Belle shot him a flat look.

“I wish I knew your name,” she said. “It seems wrong to simply call you ‘Dark One’.”

“That’s what I am,” he said, in a dry tone.

“You weren’t always,” she said. “I’ve read that the Dark One’s powers are passed from person to person. So you must have been an ordinary man once.”

His mouth had opened a little, his eyes widening behind the mask.

“You - read about me?” He sounded astonished, and Belle lifted one shoulder and let it drop, a tiny shrug.

“Of course. I never met a mystery I didn’t want to solve.”

He whirled her around, almost lifting her off her feet, and Belle was breathless when he pulled her close again, his warmth seeping into her.

“And what have you discovered, my Lady?” her asked, his voice a low rumble that made her belly clench.

“That the Dark One’s power is transferred by ritual,” she said excitedly. “Magic harnessed by the power of a mystical dagger.”

A muscle twitched in his cheek.

“A dark ritual?” he said quietly. “That’s one way to describe it, I suppose.”

“Am I right about the dagger?” she asked, and he eyed her soberly.

“All Dark Ones possess the dagger,” he confirmed. “Its use is - essential - in the creation of the next Dark One.”

“Where is it?”

His mouth twisted.

“I cannot say.”

Belle frowned.

“You can’t— do you mean you don’t know where it is, or that your curse won’t allow you to tell me?”

“I know where it is,” he said, but did not elaborate. Belle clicked her tongue in exasperation, anger at the Blue Fairy making her breath quicken.

“So you can’t tell me,” she said, almost to herself. “Right.”

They followed the whirling steps of the dance, easily side-stepping another couple, and Belle glanced up at him again.

“Were you a sorcerer?” she asked. “Before, I mean? The book said all Dark Ones were powerful sorcerers.”

He was silent for a moment, stepping back on one foot to whirl her around again, and Belle clung to his shoulder, breathing hard.

“The curse seeks out desperation,” he said finally. “The despair I felt was certainly powerful, but I had no magic of my own. Not magic as you would understand it, that is.”

"I don't understand."

"Magic is fulled by emotion," he said. "Rage, fury, and hate. Fear. Love. There is power in emotion. Controlling it is the tricky part."

"Does that mean anyone can learn to use it?" she asked, and he pursed his lips.

"Given time and training, perhaps," he said. "Some have a natural affinity, of course, but anyone can learn the basics of potion-making. Casting spells is more difficult."

Belle chewed her lip, thinking hard, her hand held tight in his as they swept across the floor.

“I read about fairy magic, too,” she said. “About light magic in general, and the balance that has to be maintained.”

“Yes,” he said dryly. “All magic comes with a price.”

“So who decides on that price?” she asked, and he sucked his teeth.

“How much is needed depends on the magic required,” he said. “How that price is paid is up to the wielder.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said slowly. “So in that case, is dark magic really any different from light? Is the source different, or is it merely the wielder that makes it dark or light?”

He was smiling slightly, his eyes gleaming behind the mask.

“You have an inquiring mind, my Lady,” he said. “You would have made an excellent apprentice.”

“Is that an offer?” she teased, and his smile grew.

“I have no desire to hide you away with me in the Dark Castle.”

“Couldn’t be any worse than becoming Gaston’s wife,” she said flatly. “D’you know the Blue Fairy tried to convince me that I should marry him for his own good? That _saving_ him should be my life’s work?”

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” he said. “The Chief Gnat and her swarm tend towards more traditional views. Nothing can upset the way things should be, in their eyes.”

“I’m sure they can’t all be like that.”

“Perhaps not as far as you’re concerned,” he said. “Their opinion of me is fairly - consistent.”

“I’m more than capable of forming my own opinion, thank you.”

“Oh, I should never try to contradict that.”

He turned them again, moving further away from the other dancers, and out onto the stone balcony, where he slowed to a stop. Belle held onto him for a moment, catching her breath, her fingers clutching at the soft velvet of his coat. The night was pleasantly cold after the heat and crush of the ballroom, and she turned her face up to the stars with a sigh. He released her, stepping back, and Belle turned to face him, smoothing the skirt of her dress, the flush in her cheeks not all due to the heat.

“How long can you stay?” she asked.

“I must leave soon,” he admitted. “I can already feel the magic tugging at me, wanting to pull me back in.”

Belle stepped forward, laying a hand on his arm, and he glanced down at it, as though surprised at her touch.

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely. “It’s not right that you’re trapped. I wish I could help.”

“Thank you.”

The music from the ballroom rose to a crescendo and stopped, allowing for applause from the dancers before starting up again in another lively tune. Belle watched the Dark One stride slowly back and forth across the balcony, hands clasped behind his back and his head bowed a little, as though he was thinking. She could feel curiosity burning inside her, the need to know more about him almost unbearable.

“Why did you ask nothing from me but my name?” she asked, and his eyes flicked up to meet hers.

“Do you wish to give more?”

“Answering one question with another isn’t a real answer.”

He chuckled, glancing away from her, and there was silence. She waited, unwilling to be the first to break it.

“I can see the future, you know,” he said at last. “It makes for interesting viewing at times, especially when dealing with people. I can always turn it to my advantage if I so choose, while still giving them what they ask for.”

“And what did you see when I called on you?”

He turned his head to face her, dark eyes fixed on hers.

“Nothing,” he said simply. “Nothing at all.”

“Is that unusual?”

“It’s never happened before,” he admitted. “I was - curious.”

Belle took a step closer, until she could hear his breath and smell the scent of him in the air. Until she could almost feel the heat from him.

“What do you think it means?” she asked.

The Dark One held her gaze, and she could feel her heart thudding hard in her chest, her skin tingling with excitement. He lifted a hand, and for a moment she thought he was going to touch her, fingers dancing in the air. But then he stepped back on one foot, pressing his fingertips together.

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I’d like to find out.”

“So would I.”

Another pause, a moment when their eyes met and the air between them seemed to thicken and crackle and hum, as though something momentous would happen. Belle waited for it, almost breathless, but the Dark One dropped his gaze, reaching for her hand and bending over it. The press of his lips made a tingle run through her.

“Until we meet again, my Lady,” he said quietly, and disappeared in a plume of red smoke.

Belle started, looking around to see if anyone had noticed, but the guests were too absorbed in the dancing and each other to pay attention. She smoothed the skirt of her dress with restless hands, trying to calm herself. Gaston lurched over, brandy glass in hand and the smell of drink already floating around him.

"Belle?" he said. "It - is Belle, yes?"

She nodded wordlessly, and he took a slurp of his drink, bouncing on his toes.

"Who were you dancing with?" he asked.

"I didn't guess his name," she said, and he grunted, throwing back the rest of the brandy and setting down the glass.

"Short, skinny excuse for a man, from what I could see," he said. "Come and dance with me."

"I'm really rather hot and would prefer—”

"Come and dance with me," he ordered, and grasped her hand, tugging her towards the floor. Belle glowered at his back as he pulled her along.

_Ten more days. Ten more days and I shall be free._


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You will note the rating went up. I'm afraid this isn't due to sexy times (yet) it's due to Gaston being a piece of shit. Please check the tags. Please also rest assured that Belle will be safe.
> 
> Update for further clarification: Gaston threatens to take Belle against her will, because he is a pig. He doesn't touch Belle, and he's stopped before he can do anything but suggest it. If you want to avoid that, skip the part where Belle retires to her room after dinner and pick it up again about 3/4 through the fic when Belle is talking to Gerta in her room.

Belle found the ball dull after the Dark One had gone, and was half-hearted in her participation. She doubted that anyone noticed; she danced as much as she could, and made the right noises when guests talked to her of the latest court gossip and rumours of ogres marching in the east. That last topic of conversation was a concern, and she resolved to ask Gaston and her father what they planned to do to protect their adjoining lands from any attack. As soon as they had sobered up, anyway. Gaston had spent much of the ball getting progressively drunker, and as a consequence was absent from breakfast the next day. Belle spent a pleasant morning chatting with her father and eating pastries, free of the oppressive presence of Gaston in a foul mood.

Some of the guests had stayed over, but all seemed to be suffering from an excess of drink, and so Belle took a morning walk in the gardens alone, twirling her parasol between her fingers to shield her face from the autumn sun. The gardeners were at work on the endless job of weeding the flower beds, and she stopped to admire some of the late-blooming roses, breathing in their heady perfume.

“Excuse me, milady?”

Belle turned at a familiar voice, and broke into a smile as Gerta bobbed a curtsy. Her blonde hair was hidden by a neat white scarf, her ragged too-large dress replaced by neat livery in Gaston’s house colours of green and white.

“Gerta!” said Belle warmly, taking her hands. “I see you took me up on the offer of service. Has the chamberlain been kind?”

“Kind enough, milady,” said Gerta. “He wasn’t too keen before I gave your name, but he’s given me a place as a maid. I can’t thank you enough.”

“And your children?”

“Back at our cottage with my sister and her little one,” she said. “We’re all very well provided for. Thanks to you and to— well, never mind me going on. We’re well, milady, I promise you. Enough food to see us through the winter, and now with this wage coming in, we’ll be able to fend for ourselves as a family.”

Belle didn’t miss her slip, and her curiosity about the deal Gerta had made with the Dark One was almost too much to bear. She decided not to mention it, as Gerta clearly didn’t want to discuss the matter.

“I’m glad to see you looking so well,” she said.

“I - I just wanted to say thank you,” said Gerta. “I’d better go and clean the windows in the library, before the chamberlain thinks I’m getting above myself.”

She bobbed another curtsy and hurried off, and Belle smiled after her, her spirits lifted. 

“Lady Belle?”

Turning at a familiar voice, her smile widened, and she spread her skirts in a curtsy to answer the deep bow made by Prince James. He was a handsome young man, with close-cropped blonde hair and wide blue eyes above a pleasant, open face. He also seemed to be one of the few nobles that genuinely seemed to care for the poor in his lands, and to dislike war. She got the impression that he was something of a disappointment to his father King George.

“It seems we’re in the minority this fine morning, Your Highness” she said, and he smiled as he straightened up.

“Father doesn’t drink much,” he said. “He was up early for a ride, but other than that, I believe you’re right. Too much wine makes for a late breakfast.”

“Or a late lunch,” she observed. “Sir Gaston will be hunting alone at this rate.”

“Oh, I suspect the prospect of killing things will drag them from their beds,” he said, in a dry tone. Belle smiled, and fell into step beside him. 

“How are you enjoying the gardens?”

“Very much,” he said. “You grow some roses here that I haven’t seen before. I always enjoyed growing things.”

“You must ask the gardeners for some cuttings,” she said. “Although in reality, these gardens belong to Gaston, not to me.”

“Not yet,” he said, looking across at her. “You marry soon, isn’t that right?”

“So I’m told.”

She wanted to bite her lip at letting her bitterness show, but Prince James shot her a look of understanding.

“Having certain expectations placed upon you is a burden,” he said carefully. “My father has very specific ideas about who I am to marry. I can’t say that my own feelings on the subject carry much weight.”

“I can sympathise.”

“Sometimes,” he said. “I wonder if we place too much emphasis on gaining lands and power. Surely happiness and love must come into it somewhere?”

“I couldn’t agree more,” she said, and he turned to face her, making her halt her progress.

“I’m not sure if the fate of a Prince is any easier to change than the fate of a Lady,” he said gently. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try, does it?”

Belle got the impression he was talking to himself as much as her, as though he were steeling himself for something. Standing up to the King, perhaps. She reached out to him, squeezing his hand.

“Of course we should try,” she said. “We should never stop trying.”

He returned her smile, putting a comforting hand over hers.

“Well, I see at least some people are up.”

Gaston’s voice made them jump, and Belle pulled back, turning to face him as he came striding towards them, a scowl lowering his brows. He bowed his head to the Prince.

“Your Highness.”

“Sir Gaston,” said Prince James, easily. “A fine party last night. I was just admiring your roses. Lady Belle suggested I ask you for some cuttings. I’d be happy to return the favour next time you visit the palace.”

“Lady Belle is generous to a fault,” said Gaston coolly, eyeing her.

His tone made Belle nervous. It seemed as though there was a dark cloud hanging over him, and she hoped it would pass when his hangover wore off. She pretended an interest in the roses near her, still feeling his eyes on her.

“Are we still hunting today?” prompted Prince James, and Belle felt Gaston look away, his glower turning from her and making her sigh in relief.

“I’ll get the horses saddled,” he confirmed. “We may be a little later than I planned, but I daresay there’ll be game enough for us to enjoy the chase. Come! Let’s wake the others. I feel the urge to get some blood on my hands.”

He let out a deep laugh, slapping the Prince’s shoulder, and Prince James bowed his head to Belle.

“Good day to you, my Lady.”

“Enjoy the hunt, Your Highness,” she said. “Good luck.”

“Are you not going to wish me good luck?” asked Gaston, his voice still cold. “Hunts are dangerous things, Belle. Can I not depend on my intended’s good wishes?”

“Good luck, Sir Gaston,” she said demurely. “The deer don’t stand a chance against you.”

He huffed, mollified.

“Indeed they don’t. Until later, my Lady.”

He grasped her upper arms possessively, pulling her to him for a rough, hurried kiss, and Belle froze in his arms, eyes flying wide open in shock. It was over in a moment, and she watched him stride away with the Prince at his side. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, shuddering. _If he gets gored by a stag I wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep._

She immediately felt guilty for wishing harm on another person, and irritated about feeling guilty when he had caused so much harm to others. Yet again her desire to do good appeared to be all too easy to ignore, and she wondered if she would ever feel truly at peace with herself. Perhaps she would get the chance to find out when she made her escape.

* * *

With Gaston and most of the men gone, it was left to her to entertain the ladies. Only a few had stayed over, and it was easy enough to organise a picnic by the lake, making the most of the early autumn sunshine. Princess Snow had invented a game that involved doing impressions of the gentlemen that were out hunting, resulting in gales of laughter from the assembled ladies. Belle couldn’t stop giggling at her impression of Gaston, fists on hips and legs spread wide with her chest thrown outwards as she called for more wine in a booming voice. The servants looked at them askance as they refilled glasses and passed around plates of cakes, and eventually Belle suggested that they return to the castle for some music. Princess Abigail played the harp, and a number of ladies were skilled singers. Belle slipped out halfway through to check on the plans for dinner, and was told that the hunt was returning.

The men had been drinking all day, it seemed, and some were barely able to sit in their saddles. Gaston was not one of them; he was skilled enough to know that a swift hunt required swifter reflexes, and so he returned relatively sober, boasting about the game he had brought down. He made up for his sobriety at dinner, downing pints of ale and wine and following it with brandy. Belle sat quietly by his side, not wanting to antagonise him. He seemed to have been in a bad mood with her all day, and she wasn’t sure why. It meant that he had ignored her for most of the dinner, so it wasn’t all bad, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was building himself up to shout at her again, and she didn’t want to feel as helpless and afraid as she had the last time it happened. Nervousness stole her appetite, and she picked at her food, wishing that the dinner would end and she could go to bed.

At last she was able to excuse herself, after making plans for a morning ride with some of the ladies.

“I’ll accompany you on the ride,” said Prince James. “Two days of hunting is a little tiring. I’d prefer to take things easy before we journey back to our own castle, what say you, Father?”

“Ride with the women if you so choose,” said King George coldly. “Perhaps it’s closer to your nature. I myself will be hunting.”

Prince James glanced away, trying to hide the irritated twist to his mouth, and Belle felt the need to defend him.

“I’m sure we would all appreciate an escort,” she said. “I for one would be delighted to have you accompany us, Your Highness.”

“I’m sure you would,” drawled Gaston, lounging in his chair with a glass of wine swinging from one hand. “That’s my girl. Always so _obliging_. Can’t resist a pretty face.”

Belle flushed, and Prince James frowned at Gaston.

“The Lady deserves more respect than you give her, Sir Gaston,” he said.

“I’ll speak as I wish in my own house,” growled Gaston. “Who’s gonna stop me? You?”

“Are you threatening your Prince?” asked Prince James quietly. There was a steely edge to his voice, the air around them growing thick and oppressive, as though a storm was coming. Silence fell, the other guests picking up on the change in atmosphere, and Belle stood up, her heart thumping with anxiety.

“I’m sure Sir Gaston meant no offence,” she said. “A little too much brandy, perhaps.”

“Don’t speak on my behalf, woman!” snapped Gaston. “You’re not my wife yet, and when you are you’ll speak when spoken to!”

Belle squared her jaw, lifting her chin, and jumped as the King banged his goblet on the table.

“Stop bickering, all of you!” he snapped. “Sir Gaston, keep a civil tongue in your head in the presence of your betters! James, don’t insult Sir Gaston in his own castle! I swear, young men today have no sense of duty or honour! What say you, Sir Maurice?”

“Too ready to drink and fight, Sire,” agreed Sir Maurice, holding out his cup to be refilled.

“They need a good war to knock some sense into them,” added the King. “Fortunately, one seems to be brewing. The two of you can go and take your tempers out on the ogres.”

The conversation turned to the ogre threat, and Belle heaved a sigh. She made her excuses, earning a sharp look from Gaston as she slipped away. His eyes were on her as she left the room, a sharp pricking between her shoulder blades, and she quickened her pace, feeling something like relief as she moved out of sight. She reached her bedroom, and rang the bell for Marilee, kicking off her heeled slippers.

“Do you need me to prepare anything for tomorrow, milady?” asked Marilee deferentially, as she helped Belle out of her gown.

“I’m riding in the morning,” said Belle. “My blue riding habit, if you please. Our guests will be leaving after luncheon, so perhaps the pink gown when I return.”

“Very good, milady.”

“I’d like some warm milk to drink, if you can arrange it,” she added. “I’m feeling restless tonight, I think I need something to help me sleep.”

“Of course.”

Marilee took the gown from her, crossing to the wardrobe to hang it and returning with her nightgown as Belle stepped out of her petticoats and tugged off her chemise. She held up her arms for the nightgown, letting out a sigh as cool silk slipped down over her body. Marilee bundled up the petticoats and chemise in her arms.

“I need to fix your hair, milady,” she said.

“I can do that,” said Belle tiredly. “If you could please hand me my robe?”

Marilee fetched the embroidered silk dressing gown, and Belle pulled it on, belting it at the waist.

“I’ll send the maid up with some warm milk, milady.”

“Thank you.”

Belle sat down at the dresser, beginning the lengthy process of taking the pins from her hair and unfastening the braids. The pins went into the small porcelain pot ready for the next day, and once she had her hair loose around her shoulders, she began brushing it, dragging the brush in sweeping strokes to make it shine. She gazed at her reflection in the mirror, counting the strokes as she counted the days to her freedom. _Nine days. Nine more days. I can hold out that long._ The squeak of the door opening caught her attention.

“Put the milk on my nightstand, if you please,” she said.

“I’m not the maid.”

Gaston’s voice made her jump and drop the brush in fright, and she turned around, getting to her feet and clutching the robe tight across her chest. He was looming near the chair where she liked to read, his coat off and his waistcoat unbuttoned. She could smell brandy on him from six feet away.

“Gaston,” she said, her voice wobbling a little. “It’s - it’s late.”

“You’re awake, aren’t you?”

“You shouldn’t be in my room,” she said. “Father wouldn’t like it.”

“We’ll be married soon,” he said. “What does it matter? Your father sets too much store by tradition. I prefer a more modern approach to these things. As do you, I imagine.”

“Not when it comes to my honour,” she said stiffly.

“Your _honour_?” He chuckled. “I’ve seen little enough of that the past few days. It’s like you can’t stand to be around me.”

“I’ve been tired, that’s all,” she said. “Can we talk about this in the morning? You’re drunk, and I want to sleep.”

“Well, whether I am or am not drunk is not the issue,” he said, taking another step towards her. “And we’re gonna talk about it now.”

“Gaston, please…” 

“These past few days I’ve been getting the feeling that you’re not too excited about the idea of marrying me,” he said. “Set your sights elsewhere, have you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really? Then can you explain why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t!” she insisted. “We’ve had guests, I had to entertain them.”

“Oh, I’m well aware of how seriously you take _that_ duty,” he spat. “Where was your honour when Princess Snow was making fun of me? The servants told me everything.”

“She - she was doing impressions of all the men, not just you,” she said, inwardly cursing the servants’ loose tongues. “It was all in jest, she meant no harm!”

“And you thought you’d laugh along with her, did you?”

His anger was rising; she could see his nostrils flaring, his eyes protruding, and it was making fear ripple through her. She eyed the door, but he stood between it and her, and so she held up her hands in a soothing gesture, hoping she could calm him down enough to get him out of her room.

“It wasn’t malicious,” she insisted. “You have my word!”

“Your word means nothing, it seems to me!” he spat. “I’ve seen you whispering and giggling with those bitches that think they’re better than me!”

“I _haven’t_!”

“Flirting with every man that comes to the palace!” he went on. “Throwing yourself at Prince James! What, a noble knight isn’t enough for you? You have to set your sights on the Prince?”

“I was only being friendly! He was—”

“Did he touch you?” he demanded. “Did _any_ of them touch you? What about the man you were so taken with at the dance, hmm? How many of them are there?”

“No one!” she insisted, “There’s no one, I swear it!”

_“Don’t lie to me!”_

Belle backed up against the dresser, her heart hammering in her chest, mute with fear as he approached, hands opening and closing, as though he wanted to squeeze the life from her.

“You think you can make a fool of me before we’re even married?” he rasped. “You think I would _allow_ that?”

“I’ve done nothing wrong, I swear to you!”

“Perhaps you think it’ll get you out of this match,” he went on. “You think you’ll get a better offer, is that it?”

“No!”

“You are _mine_!” he growled. “I told you that when you were promised to me, but it seems you didn’t believe me.”

“Gaston, _please_!”

“Well, if I take you now, you won’t be able to marry anyone else, will you?”

Belle shook her head in horror, unable to take her eyes from him, and his mouth curved into an ugly grin.

“If I take you now, you won’t have a ch—”

A crash of breaking pottery cut off his words, and Belle clapped her hands to her mouth as he slumped to the ground, broken shards of her water jug rolling on the floor. Behind him stood Gerta, wide-eyed with shock, the handle of the jug still clasped in her right hand and a spilled cup of milk on the floor at her feet, still steaming a little. Belle let her breath out in a sigh of relief, trying to calm her racing heart. She shuddered at the thought of what could have happened, what _would_ have happened, had Gerta not been willing to intervene. The jug handle dropped to the floor with a dull clink.

“Oh - oh gods!” stammered Gerta. “I’ve killed him! I swear I didn’t mean to, milady, I just wanted to help!”

Belle sat down on her heels, skirts spreading around herself as she felt for Gaston’s pulse. It was throbbing away fiercely, and she looked up.

“He’s not dead,” she said. “Just unconscious. I daresay he’ll have a terrible headache, and if he remembers what happened, we’ll both be in trouble.”

“I assaulted the lord!” said Gerta wretchedly, wringing her hands. “They’ll have me flogged, milady. That’s if they don’t just hang me. What shall I do?”

Belle pushed to her feet, shoving away her panic as an idea formed.

“You called on the Dark One,” she said, in a low whisper, and Gerta looked fearful.

“How - how did you know?”

“Because he told me so,” said Belle, grasping her hands. “Please, don’t be afraid, I’m not angry. I think he can help us.”

“You shouldn’t get mixed up with the Dark One, milady!” she said urgently. “Not for my sake! I’ve heard tales of what he can do, of what he _has_ done to those that crossed him!”

“He doesn’t frighten me,” said Belle firmly. “And didn’t he help you? Why fear him?”

“He - he saved me and my children,” she admitted. “He kept his word, milady, but - but it’s dark magic! My mother always said that no good came from messing with magic, and dark magic especially!”

“You let me worry about that,” said Belle. “All I need from you is how you summoned him.”

“Why, with his name, of course.”

“You - you know his name?”

“Heard it from my aunt,” said Gerta. “She said he’d saved her farm from the famine and her family from the plague, some years back. She said that he always kept his word, but to beware his price. My mother had thought her mad to call on him. She’d have thought me mad too.”

“What price did she pay?” asked Belle nervously, and Gerta swallowed.

“Her new baby,” she whispered. “Just weeks old, she was. Taken away and never seen again. I - I was so afraid, milady. Afraid that he’d take one of my children, but I was desperate! I’d have lost them both to starvation if I hadn’t called on him!”

“And because of you, they are safe and well,” said Belle soothingly, putting her hands on Gerta’s shoulders. “You said you called his name. Can you whisper it to me?”

She nodded, and Belle leaned forward, Gerta taking a breath and whispering in her ear. Belle felt her brow crease at the unfamiliar word.

“Rumplestiltskin,” she murmured, then, louder: “Rumplestiltskin!”

“Yes, yes, no need to shout!”

He appeared in a puff of red smoke, and Gerta squeaked in alarm and darted backward. Rumplestiltskin’s eyes narrowed, but then he swept a deep bow. He was dressed all in black leather, the trousers tight around his slim thighs and the coat fitted to his body over a shirt of black silk.

“Lady Belle,” he said, glancing up at her. “So, you learned my name. Resourceful, aren’t you?”

“When I need to be.”

His mouth quirked, and he straightened up. He was standing still, but he tapped his fingers together rapidly, as though his body was filled with an energy he couldn’t quite shake. If he had been anyone but the Dark One, she would have thought him nervous.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you quite so soon,” he said.

“I need your help,” said Belle quickly, and he glanced at the prone body of Gaston.

“Disposal of corpses is a speciality of mine,” he said cheerfully. “I won’t even charge you for the privilege.”

“He’s not dead,” said Belle, shooting him a dry look. “And I told you, no killing. Could you please ensure you get him to his room and - and somehow make him forget that he was here and that Gerta hit him? I don’t want her in trouble, she was only trying to protect me.”

Rumplestiltskin looked deeply amused, fingers twirling in the air.

“What did he do that merited you breaking a jug over his head, pray tell?” he asked snidely, and Gerta gulped. Belle stepped forwards, putting a hand on his arm.

“Please, Rumplestiltskin,” she said urgently. “Please. Before he wakes up, or one of the servants sees.”

He had glanced down at her hand on his arm, and she quickly took it away again. When she looked up, he was watching her, amber eyes wide and curious.

“There’s the matter of my price, my Lady,” he said quietly, and she nodded.

“I thought about that,” she said. “Why don’t you let me do something for you?”

“Such as?” he drawled. “Embroider me a cushion, perhaps?”

“No,” she said, and raised her chin. “Let me try to return what was taken from you.”

He stared at her for a moment, then waved his hand dismissively, as though it were an afterthought, his eyes still fixed on Belle's bright and burning. A plume of red smoke engulfed Gaston, and when it lifted he had disappeared. Gerta squeaked again, and Rumplestiltskin glanced at her.

“Go and tell the chamberlain that his master took a fall from his bath and has taken to his bed,” he said. “When he wakes, which won’t be for a few days, he will remember nothing of this incident, and will be just as vile and obnoxious as ever, I assure you.”

Gerta dropped a curtsy and hurried off, and Rumplestiltskin turned back to Belle.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked quietly.

His voice had changed in tone, grown lower and warmer, the accent stronger. He sounded more human, more real. Belle hesitated.

“No,” she said. “No, he - he scared me, that was all.”

“You’re absolutely sure you don’t want me to kill him?” he said lazily, fingers flickering. “I’m more than willing to change the deal.”

“I’ve already paid the price for you getting me out of the marriage.”

“Oh, I’m always happy to throw a little murder into the mix, in a special case like this one.”

Belle shot him a flat look.

“We made our agreement,” she said. “I gave you my name, and you said you could deal with him without the need for violence.”

“And so I can.”

“Good,” she said. “About the new deal I propose, then?”

Rumplestiltskin pursed his lips, fingers twitching in the air again.

“You wish to return my dagger to me?”

“I do,” she said. “You said that you knew where it was, but you couldn’t tell me. I presume you can’t take it back for yourself, so I’ll do it for you.”

“I don’t even know if that’s possible.”

“Well, it certainly won’t be if we never try.”

There was a hint of a smile at that. He turned away from her, beginning to pace back and forth.

“The Blue Fairy will have protected it,” he said. “I suspect there’ll be more than just the barrier spells to keep me from it. You could get hurt.”

“Without risk, it wouldn’t be much of a price, would it?”

He glanced around at that, his eyes gleaming.

“And you wish to put yourself in danger in return for me saving the man that abuses you?”

“I wish not to have his blood on my hands,” she said. “You promised me that you would protect me and my people from him without the need to cause him harm. I’d prefer that if possible. I won’t drag myself down to his level. There’s been too much suffering in these lands already.”

He was silent for a moment.

“You are a very singular young woman, my Lady.”

“So you’ve told me,” she said. “And frankly, coming from you, it’s a compliment. Do we have a deal?”

He smiled, the light gleaming on his strange, scaled skin.

“I can’t take you back with me this way,” he said, gesturing between them. “You’ll need to use the book again.”

“I can do that.”

“And you’ll need something to - to protect you,” he said. “It’ll take magic.”

“A good thing you’re the most powerful sorcerer in the land, then.”

His smile grew.

“You’re fearless, my Lady.”

“Oh, I’m really not,” she said. “There are many things I fear, Rumplestiltskin. But not you.”

“Good,” he said softly. “Then we have a deal.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last time, Belle offered to retrieve Rumplestiltskin's dagger in return for him keeping Gaston out of the way for a few days and saving Gerta from retribution for clocking him over the head. Here's what happened next.

As soon as Rumplestiltskin disappeared again, Belle glanced around herself, thinking quickly about what she might need. Opening up the wardrobe, she pulled out a pair of soft leather boots and pulled them on under her silk nightdress. Not for the first time, she wished that she could wear breeches and boots, rather than silk dresses that needed a maid’s assistance to get in and out of. None of the clothes in her wardrobe could be donned without help, and her mouth twisted as she looked at herself in the standing mirror, thick silk robe over a nightdress that reached to the floor, the toes of her boots just poking out beneath. To the Dark One’s credit, he hadn’t batted an eye at seeing her in her dressing gown, but it was hardly suitable attire for late night adventuring. She shrugged it off, hanging it up in the wardrobe and pulling out a riding coat in fine blue wool. It covered her rear and the tops of her thighs, but the nightdress below was thin enough that the shape of her legs could be seen. She told herself firmly that it didn’t matter, and hoped that the search for the Dark One’s dagger wouldn’t take her anywhere too cold.

There was a leather satchel in the wardrobe, which she sometimes used to carry books, and she pulled it out, planning what to take with her. Next, she rummaged in the drawers of her dresser, taking out the small sewing kit that was kept there and dropping it into the satchel. Slipping from the bedroom with a lighted lantern in one hand and the satchel over one shoulder, she tiptoed downstairs into the library. Setting the lantern down on one of the small reading tables, she retrieved the books on curse breaking and light magic from their hiding places and stowed them in the satchel before hunting for the book she needed.

Flipping it open and laying it on the table next to her satchel, she found the page with the black circles and their strange inscriptions, and reached for her sewing kit. Carefully retrieving a needle, she took a deep breath and quickly pricked her finger, letting out an exclamation at the sharp pain. A bead of blood formed, glistening at the end of her finger, and she pressed it against the centre of the circle before turning the page. The strange hand with its dark nails and silk cuff was there, palm upward, waiting for her.

“If I offer it, will you accept?” she whispered. “Yes!”

This time, when the lights went out, she was not alarmed. She grasped her satchel, shouldering it, and smiled as warm light from above bathed her in gold.

“My Lady.” Rumplestiltskin’s voice was almost a purr. “This is becoming a habit.”

“If I can find your dagger, perhaps I won’t have to bleed in order to talk to you,” she said dryly. “Shall we get on with it?”

He chuckled, reaching inside the circle of light, one long finger beckoning to her. She grasped his hand firmly, and the light around her winked out.

Belle blinked rapidly as the interior of the Dark Castle appeared. The same heavy table and single chair. The same marble fireplace with a hearty blaze crackling and sending light and shadows dancing around the room. And Rumplestiltskin, watching her with a tiny grin on his face, firelight picking out the tiny scales of his skin. His eyes flicked over her, lingering a little on her legs, and Belle felt her cheeks heat.

“An unconventional choice of outfit,” he remarked.

“I could hardly ask one of the maids to come and dress me for a trip to the Dark Castle, could I?” she said impatiently. “Besides, it’s easier to move around in than a gown.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“If I had my way, my wardrobe would be full of breeches,” she added. “Father refused to let me get any. He thinks they’re unfeminine, but I don’t see how.”

“When our deal is done, you may have all the breeches you want,” said Rumplestiltskin, looking amused.

“We’d better get on with it then, hadn’t we?” she said. “Gaston may be unconscious for a few days, but the maids will still come to wake me in the morning. I’d rather not cause a panic if I can help it.”

“You do realise I can’t tell you where the dagger is,” he said. “This castle is vast: it could take you days to search it fully.”

Belle shot him a flat look.

“Well, you said you could enter all the rooms in your castle except one,” she said tartly. “Makes sense to start there, wouldn’t you say?”

He was smiling, his eyes gleaming, and she got the feeling he was enjoying her cleverness.

“Then follow me, my Lady.”

He set off at a brisk walk, heading out of the hall and down a long corridor, and she trotted to keep up, nightdress swishing around her legs beneath the coat. Rumplestiltskin carried no lantern, but the lamps on the wall flared to light as they approached before dimming once they had passed.

“Have you always lived here?” she asked, and he glanced at her over his shoulder.

“No,” he said. “I’ve had it for a couple of centuries, that’s all. Obtained it as part of a deal.”

“And before that?” she asked. “What was your home like before you were the Dark One?”

He was silent for a moment, and she thought perhaps he wouldn’t answer.

“Smaller,” he said eventually. “But not as quiet.”

She opened her mouth to ask another question, but he turned swiftly to the right and up a wide staircase, and she had to hurry to catch up.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, as they reached the landing.

“Let’s call it - the West Wing,” he said. “I can take you to the room in question, but after that, I’m afraid I’m of no use to you. I can’t enter the room; believe me, I’ve tried.”

“There’s an enchantment protecting the room itself, I suppose,” she said. “What can you tell me about it?”

He glanced at her, a smile curving his lips.

“It’s a powerful barrier spell, keeping out dark entities and anyone that wields dark magic,” he said. “As you can imagine, that rules me out completely.”

“Doesn’t mean that I can’t enter and you can’t guide me,” she said. “Perhaps I can tell you what I see, ask you questions. The Blue Fairy may be able to stop you physically entering, but that’s not to say I can’t take your mind with me, is it?”

Rumplestiltskin was looking at her with undisguised admiration, and it was making her blush.

“What?” she asked nervously.

“I was just thinking that this has been one of the most interesting deals I ever made,” he remarked.

“Well, we have a common interest, do we not?”

“We do indeed,” he agreed. “You have a sharp mind, my Lady. You think creatively, and in a battle of wits, I would not bet against you. Let’s see how clever the Blue Fairy is with her spellcasting, shall we?”

“She’s no match for us,” said Belle resolutely, and his smile grew.

“I’m beginning to believe that’s true.”

He turned into a wide corridor, and stopped before a set of double doors. Belle glanced at him as he paused, fingers flickering in the air. The doors swung open, revealing a large room beyond, bathed in blue moonlight. Belle gasped as she stepped inside, eyes running from left to right. Bookshelves were on every wall, filled with more books than she could ever read in a lifetime. A table sat off to the side with a leather-backed chair beside it. There was a chaise covered in heavy brocade, and two squashy armchairs with a lamp in between them. Lanterns hung on the walls, unlit candles in sconces. A large fireplace with a heavy marble surround was empty and cold, and it looked as though the place had been untouched for years. At the far end, suspended in the air and glowing faintly blue, was a shining dagger with a fluted blade. Belle blinked.

“She barred you from your own _library_!” she said, her voice rising with indignation. Rumplestiltskin let out a soft chuckle.

“She did indeed.”

Belle huffed, upset on his behalf.

“So you can see the dagger, right there, and never touch it?”

“Yes,” he said, in a dry tone. “I’d be exchanging one prison for another, but at least with the dagger I may come and go as I choose.”

“What do you mean, one prison for another?” she asked curiously, and he waved a hand.

“No matter. A tale for another day.”

Belle frowned, but he was right. She needed to concentrate on the dagger. She thought over what she knew thus far.

“So, the Blue Fairy has enchanted the dagger so that it hangs in your library, but you can’t enter the library to get it, nor can you ask someone to take it for you, nor tell them where it is,” she summarised.

“Indeed.”

“But you can see it, and you know where it is, it’s just - always out of reach to you.”

“Correct.”

“That’s so cruel.”

“Yes.”

Belle raised her chin, turning back to him.

“Alright,” she said. “How do I take it?”

He opened his mouth, and his tongue seemed to catch, making him shake his head.

“You can’t tell me,” she reasoned, getting angry at the Blue Fairy all over again. “Very well, in that case tell me what you can about this spell.”

“It’s light magic,” he said. “Fairy magic. It doesn’t mix well with what I am. Touching it would hurt, and probably bring the Blue Fairy from where she’s currently lurking. She wouldn’t confront me directly, but I’d prefer not to alert her to what we’re doing.”

“Go on.”

“The first barrier of the spell is just inside this doorway, and keeps out not only anyone using dark magic, but anyone who wants to use the dagger,” he said. “That covers me, of course, but also anyone else seeking to control me other than the Blue Fairy.”

“Well, I certainly have no desire to control you,” said Belle. “Perhaps I’ll be able to get past the first barrier.”

“Perhaps so,” he agreed. “Alas, I cannot sense what magic lies beyond. There may be barriers we can’t see.”

“I have my books,” said Belle, patting the satchel. “Perhaps they’ll be some help. What advice can you give me on breaking curses?”

“Perhaps I can give you something more useful,” he said.

He twirled his hand, and a plume of red smoke enveloped it. When it had cleared, a shining length of pale crystal lay in his palm, his fingers gently curled around it as he offered it to her.

“Is that - a wand?” she asked.

“It is,” he said. “A wand of great power, but useless to me.”

“Why?” she asked, taking it from him.

“It can only be wielded by one who uses light magic,” he said, and Belle pulled a face, turning the wand between her hands as she looked it over.

“But I have no power,” she said, and Rumplestiltskin tapped the side of his nose with a finger.

“You and I had a conversation at the ball,” he said. “A conversation about magic. Who could use it. Who was born to do so, and who could learn. I said that I believe you would make a good apprentice. Shall we see if that’s so?”

“But - but even if I _could_ use magic, I have no idea how to - to _summon_ it!” she protested.

“Well, magic is emotion,” he said lightly. “The stronger the emotion, the stronger the magic, I find. The trick is in controlling it.”

“That certainly echoes what I read in my books,” she admitted. “What else can you tell me?”

“Whenever I wish to use a large amount of magic, I simply think of something that makes me incandescent with rage,” he said, in a light, airy tone which she suspected disguised his true feelings. “However, I believe for the summoning of light magic, you may wish to find a more - pleasant - emotion.”

Belle glanced up from her study of the wand. He was watching her, his eyes gleaming gold, his gaze intent. She took a step forward.

“Like what?” she asked quietly. “Like - like a happy memory?”

“Try it,” he suggested.

Belle took a deep breath, and focused on the wand in her hand.

“Close your eyes,” he said softly.

She let her eyes slide closed.

“Now think of that memory,” he said, his voice low and lilting. “A memory that brings you the most happiness. Make it large and colourful in your mind. Make it _real_.”

Belle remembered a day spent with her mother, a ride in the sunshine on a perfect day, and a picnic by a waterfall. She tried to focus on how happy she had felt, how much she had loved her mother.

“ _Feel_ that memory,” he said softly. “Take it deep inside, and breathe life into it. Focus all your emotion, and try to pour it into the wand.”

It started as a tiny spark in her chest, spreading outwards, licking over her skin like the warmth of the sun in winter. Belle felt heat flow through her body and down her arm, and opened her eyes with a gasp. The wand was glowing with a faint silvery light, and Rumplestiltskin was looking very pleased with himself.

“I did it!” she squeaked, and the light winked out, the heat disappearing with it and leaving her feeling as though she had been doused with cold water.

“Oh!” she gasped, and heard his low chuckle.

“You channelled some magic,” he said. “I don’t think you’re going to be duelling the Blue Fairy any time soon, but you should at least be able to make the wand work. Just channel magic into it as you just did, and ask it to tell you what it sees. It should uncover any traps the Blue Fairy has left in that room, and how to get the dagger back from her.”

Belle nodded, clutching the wand to herself and turning back to him.

“So happiness is the key to light magic?” she said. “Are there other paths? Like - love?”

Rumplestiltskin’s mouth twitched in something that was not quite a smile.

“Ah yes,” he whispered. “Love - true love - is the most powerful magic of all.”

“I’ve read about that,” she said, taking a step closer. “I’ve read that true love is the only magic strong enough to break any curse.”

“And so it is.”

“Which means that it’s the only magic strong enough to best the Blue Fairy,” she added. “To best the Dark One himself, perhaps.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Perhaps so.”

“Is - is that what you meant?” she asked, inching closer. “When you said the Blue Fairy taunted you with something, with the key to your cell? A - a flicker of light in the darkness, you called it. Was that it?”

Rumplestiltskin’s smile was weary.

“Well, it’s not as though I was wrong,” he said. “True love is the only magic I have never been able to bottle. It cannot be conjured, it cannot be synthesised. The perfect key to my cell. The Dark One could never find true love for himself, after all.”

Belle put her head to the side.

“Where is that written?” she asked, and his mouth twisted.

“Not everything is contained in books, my Lady.”

“Not everything is predestined, either,” she said. “I like to think we make our own fate, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You’re speaking to one who sees the future,” he said wryly.

“You don’t see mine, remember?” she said. “Can you see your own?”

He eyed her for a moment, as though he was considering her point, but then shook his head.

“It’s not a matter of what’s predestined, but of what the Dark One _is_ ,” he said. “True love is - pure. Unselfish. It comes from a place of goodness, of sacrifice. The opposite to what I am.”

Belle raised her chin.

“I don’t believe you’re nearly as dark as you say,” she said. “But perhaps now is not the time for arguing points of magical philosophy.”

“Indeed,” he said briskly, stepping back. “You have a dagger to retrieve.”

“I do,” she said. “I should get on with it before the sun rises.”

She turned back to the library and squared her shoulders, before glancing back at him.

“Though I fully intend to continue this discussion with you later,” she added, and he grinned.

“I look forward to it.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update this - I was blocked. Anyway, I started thinking about it out of nowhere, so here

Belle eyed the library doorway in front of her, fingers twitching on the strap of the leather satchel over her shoulder, her other hand clutching the crystal wand.

“Remember,” said Rumplestiltskin. “Ask the wand to tell you what it sees. Use it to channel your light magic, to aid you in any spells you might cast. Have a care, though. Untrained as you are, you might want to limit your use of it. Wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

“How will I know if I’m using too much?” she asked, and he tutted.

“Difficult to tell until afterwards,” he said. “Using magic - filling yourself with it - it can be a powerful and alluring thing. Addictive. Careful that in trying to help me, you don’t lose yourself, my Lady.”

Belle glanced down at the wand, anxiety prickling at her.

“I don’t suppose I have enough skill to worry about it at this point,” she said. “But I’ll bear in mind what you say, Rumplestiltskin.”

“And don’t be fooled by soft colours and tinkling music,” he added. “I’ve encountered fairy barriers before, and dealt with their portals and artefacts. They may seem harmless, but pretty can kill just as easily as twisted and dark. Fairies are tricksome creatures at the best of times, and the Chief Gnat is the worst of them.”

Belle glanced over her shoulder, giving him a wry look.

“I’ve never set much store by appearances.”

He smiled slightly at that, his eyes crinkling.

“Good luck, my Lady,” he said sincerely. “Please come back safely.”

Belle turned back to the doorway, and the dagger that hung in the air at the other side of the room. _Perhaps it’ll be simple. Perhaps the Blue Fairy only wanted to keep him out of here with her spell against dark magic. I could step through and take the dagger and get back out within seconds._

Taking a deep breath, she squared her jaw and took a step forward, through the doorway. There was a tingle in her skin as she passed through, and she realised that she was holding her breath. She let it out as she entered the library, and squeaked as she was plunged into darkness. It was thick, stifling, total. It was as though she had gone blind.

“Rumplestiltskin!”

“I’m here,” he said, his voice soothing. “What is it? Tell me what you see?”

“Nothing!” Her voice was high and fearful. “Just - just darkness!”

“Then perhaps you need some light. Good thing you carry so much with you, hmm?”

 _Of course. Light magic. Stop panicking, Belle, and think! According to the book, creating light is one of the first things a fairy learns to do, so it can’t be impossible._ She took several deep breaths, trying to calm her racing heart, and lifted the crystal wand in front of her. Trying to think of a pleasant memory was difficult when fear was making her heart thump, but she concentrated, allowing the pictures to form in her mind. 

“Give me light,” she said aloud, and the darkness winked out as though it had never been. She felt her body sag with relief.

“Good,” said Rumplestiltskin, his voice a low purr. “You have proven that you don’t seek to control me, and that you wield light magic. I think you can walk a little further.”

Licking her lips nervously, Belle took another step forward, and her foot sank into thick, soft grass. Glancing around, she could see that the library had disappeared, and she was standing on a green path that meandered between slopes covered in flowers. The scent of them was in the air, sweet and heady, and a gentle sun shone from a clear blue sky.

“Lady Belle?”

Rumplestiltskin’s voice made her jump, and she turned on the spot. The doorway had disappeared, the landscape beyond the path rolling, flower-strewn fields.

“I can’t see you,” she said. “I’m alright, though.” 

“I can no longer see you, either,” he said, sounding vexed. “It’s as though you’ve stepped through something. A wide circle, rippling in the air. Blasted fairies and their blasted portals!”

“Well, at least we can still hear one another,” she said, and he grunted something.

“What do you see?”

Belle looked around herself again. The horizon seemed indistinct, shifting and blurring, and she frowned, trying to focus on it

“I - I’m in a meadow, I suppose. Grassy banks covered in flowers, and a winding green path.”

There was an amused snort.

“I suppose the interior of the Dark Castle was too much to bear for Her Royal Intolerance,” he remarked. “She wanted to bring a little of the fairy realm with her. Can you still see the dagger?”

Belle looked around, shaking her head.

“No. I think it was in front of me, in the direction of the path.”

“Perhaps, but best to be sure. A little magic, I think. Use the wand.”

Belle nodded, and held up the wand. Closing her eyes, she focused on happy memories. The gentle warmth of light magic was familiar by now, and made her smile.

“Show me the safest path to the dagger,” she said, and opened her eyes.

A gleaming trail wound across the meadow, following the grassy path for the most part before veering sharply to the right. Belle frowned curiously at what it was avoiding. A clump of flowers in pale shades of blue and lilac. She began walking the path, stopping at the point that the trail turned right. The flowers seemed to sway in a light breeze, but she could feel no air against her skin. The movement was soothing, hypnotic, the heady scent drifting into her nose. Belle stifled a yawn.

“What is it?” Rumplestiltskin’s voice was a little sharper than usual.

“The wand has drawn a trail for me, which follows the path that I’m on before turning to the right,” she said. “It takes me away from a large clump of flowers. They smell - lovely.”

She yawned again, watching the flowers bob and weave. It was as though they were encouraging her to step closer, to bend her head and inhale deeply, and she wondered at her body’s reluctance to move.

“Follow the trail, my Lady,” said Rumplestiltskin, his tone urgent. “Now!”

It seemed to take an age to pry her feet from the ground, taking first one step, and then another. Hesitantly she walked along the glittering trail, and as the scent of the flowers faded, she almost stumbled and fell. Drowsiness disappeared, and she quickened her pace, glancing back over her shoulder to where the flowers danced and swayed in the breeze that wasn’t there.

“What were they?” she asked anxiously.

“A trap, I should think,” he said sourly. “Stick to the trail. Your wording of the spell was quite specific - that is the safest path. Do not leave it.”

Belle nodded, eyes following the trail. It appeared to crest a hill, and she mounted it cautiously, eyes sweeping left to right. The trail ran down to a small copse, a circle of squat trees with smooth, even trunks and tightly-packed foliage. She could see no evidence that the trail came out the other side, and she glanced around nervously.

“What do you see?”

Again, Rumplestiltskin’s voice made her start, but she was relieved to hear him.

“The trail runs down into a grove,” she said. “Short trees with very smooth trunks. I don’t recognise them.”

“Very small, dense leaves?” he asked. “Blue, bell-shaped flowers?”

“I - yes. Yes, I can see blue flowers on the trees, but not the shape of them.”

“Sounds like faewood trees,” he said. “The pollen is a less potent version of fairy dust, and the nectar is an elixir, used by the gnats to revive themselves. Common in the fairy realms. Like travellers’ resting posts.”

“Oh. Will they do me any harm?”

“Not you.” He sounded amused. “I think you’re safe to go down there, my Lady. It appears the Blue Fairy made the entrance to this portal so she wouldn’t have to set foot in my castle a minute longer than necessary. Complete with food and fairy dust, should she need reviving after a hard day of interference. Keep an eye out for traps, though.”

Belle nodded to herself, and channelled magic into the wand.

“Show me anything that may harm me,” she said aloud.

The wand twitched in her hand, and instinctively she turned it over, holding it flat on her palm. It jerked, swinging around to point at a patch of grass to her left. It was smooth and even and perfectly circular, the grass a very deep green. The glittering trail skittered away from it, looping around, and Belle followed it, glancing back over her shoulder at the curious grass patch. Whatever it was, she intended to avoid it. The wand lay quiet in her palm, and so she headed down towards the copse, eyes casting right and left.

Up close, the trees seemed taller and somehow heavier, and she drew to a halt, peering at the darkness beyond the trunks. The trail led between two of the trees, and she squared her shoulders.

“I’m almost in the copse,” she said. “I can’t see anything through the trees, but the trail ends inside. The dagger must be there.”

“Indeed,” said Rumplestiltskin, his voice echoing a little. “Take care, my Lady.”

“It looks quite dark under the trees,” she said. “Perhaps I need a little more light.”

She set down the satchel, unearthing her book on fairies and turning the pages hurriedly. _First they learn to summon light, and then to contain it._ She found the chapter she remembered looking at, an image of a fairy standing on tiptoes, lifting a wand high and looking at a ball of light hanging in the air in front of her. Belle pursed her lips, reading the page, but there was nothing on how to cast the spell.

“If I wanted to create light and carry it with me, what should I do?” she asked aloud.

“Well, ordinarily I’d say take a lantern.” Rumplestiltskin’s voice was snide, and she rolled her eyes.

“Hilarious. Given that all I have is this wand, what’s your advice?”

“Summon the magic,” he said. “As you’ve been doing most adroitly. Push that power into a ball, and imagine it floating in front of you, lighting your way. You can even tether it to yourself, if that makes it easier.”

Belle wrinkled her nose.

“I’m not sure I can do something that complex yet,” she admitted.

“Never admit weakness in front of the magic,” he chided. “It can hear you. Remember that—all talk of prices aside—it is _you_ that must control _it_ , not the other way around.”

“Is that the same for dark as well as light magic?” she asked. “Or does it again depend on the wielder?”

“I thought we were saving the discussion on magical theory for your return?” His tone was one of mild amusement.

“I know, it’s just - it’s interesting, that’s all. I imagine there are many books in your library I should like to read.”

“Return my dagger to me, and you may read as many as you please.”

“Right.” 

Belle concentrated on the wand, feeling the tingle of magic. It seemed easier each time she did it. Easier and more pleasant, as though her body was filled with warmth and light. She imagined that his warning of addiction was one to heed. She held her breath, focusing on the feeling, trying to push the light into one small, compact whole. Her eyes widened as she saw a stream of light flow out of the wand and form a small, glowing ball of white light, tinged with pale blue. It hovered in the air, the edges pulsing a little.

“I did it!” she said delightedly, and the light flicked up into the trees ahead of her, lighting a path in the darkness.

“Good.” Rumplestiltskin sounded satisfied. “I was right. An excellent apprentice.”

Beaming to herself, Belle shoved the book back in her satchel and threw the strap over her shoulder.

“I’m going into the copse,” she said.

“Tell me what you see,” he said, as she walked beneath the branches of the trees at the outer edge. “If, as you say, the trail ends within, then the dagger must—”

His voice cut off, and Belle stopped, glancing around herself, her heart thumping. She had just stepped past the first of the trees, and could hear nothing but a faint rustling in the branches.

“Rumplestiltskin!” she called. “Rumplestiltskin!”

He didn’t reply, and nor did he appear before her. Belle thought quickly, then took several steps back.

“—should be simple enough,” he went on, and she wanted to heave a sigh of relief.

“I lost you,” she said. “In amongst the trees I can no longer hear you.”

“Ah.” He sounded regretful. “A fairy grove in truth, then. I cannot enter.”

Belle swallowed.

“Then I’m alone?”

“And extremely capable,” he said soothingly. “I have faith in you, my Lady. It’s an - interesting - if unfamiliar, feeling.”

She inhaled deeply, raising her chin.

“Then I had better get on with it, hadn’t I?” she said briskly. “Restoring the Dark One’s faith in humanity has to be an achievement of note, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Well, let’s not get carried away,” he said dryly. “Perhaps I merely have faith in _you_.”

It was said lightly, but the words made her smile.

“I’ll come back,” she promised. “I swear it.”

“I know.”

She turned back, stepping forward. Silence descended as she walked in amongst the trees, the ball of light shining on the path ahead of her. Holding the wand on her palm again, she whispered to it to point out anything that could harm her, but it indicated nothing other than a tree root. _Perhaps the Blue Fairy feels safe here,_ she thought. _If the Dark One can’t enter, perhaps no one with evil intent can, either._

The grove was certainly peaceful, a feeling of calm amongst the heavy trunks of the trees. She could see the blue, bell-shaped flowers that Rumplestiltskin had mentioned, scattered in clumps amongst the tiny, spear-shaped leaves, but she left them alone, focusing on the winding trail ahead. It rounded the trunk of a large tree, and Belle walked into a small clearing. Her mouth fell open as she looked around, the clearing filled with glowing spheres of light in a myriad of colours, hanging in the air all around the centre. At the heart of the clearing sat a stone well, its rim carved in looping fairy script. Belle frowned, reading it over. She had studied the fairy language, but it had been some time since she had translated anything, and it was a dialect she didn't recognise. There was a wooden cover set into the well, and she almost lifted it up before drawing back a hand and stepping backwards. _Not so hasty, Belle._

Frowning to herself, she moved back from the centre of the clearing, looking around. The trail ended at the side of the well, so she presumed that the dagger was inside. The words around the rim were making her nervous, though, and she was reluctant to open the well without knowing what she faced. She decided to take a moment to think on her next steps, and turned her attention to the glowing spheres in the air around her. They were large enough to fit the palm of a hand, and made of what appeared to be polished crystal. At first Belle thought they were solid, but bending to peer at one showed strands of colour and soft lights inside, dancing and swirling. She reached out to touch one, her curiosity overwhelming. 

_Pretty can kill just as easily as twisted and dark._ Rumplestiltskin’s voice sounded in her head, a timely memory of his words, and she straightened up, snatching her hand back and shuddering a little. The spheres looked familiar, though, reminding her of something she had read. She slipped the satchel from her shoulder, opening it up and pulling out the book on fairy magic. Leafing through it, she slapped a hand against the page as she found what she was looking for.

“ _‘Orbs of Avalon have been traded for centuries by the pirates of Smugglers’ Cove’,_ ” she read. “ _‘The Orbs are used to trap and transport fairies, and change hands for hefty prices. Families not assigned a fairy godmother of their own often purchase an Orb and the fairy it contains, to ensure the health and well-being of their child. The methods used by the pirates to trap such powerful magical beings are alas unknown. It is presumed that strong dark magic is involved, and there are rumours that the Dark One himself creates the Orbs'.”_

Belle frowned in puzzlement, looking from the book up at the Orbs and back down again.

“But that doesn’t make sense,” she said aloud. “If these are used to trap fairies, why are they here, in a fairy grove? A fairy grove in the _Dark Castle_ , no less, where the Dark One can't enter?”

She read a little further on in the chapter, and leafed through to the index of the book to see if she could find anything else on the Orbs or on the fairy script at the well, but there was nothing. Chewing her lip in vexation, she closed the book, shoving it in her satchel again, and clutched the wand in her hand. Hesitating only slightly, she held it up, feeling the power of light magic flow down her arm and into the wand as she pointed it at the nearest Orb, which glowed a warm and pleasant pink.

“Probably going to regret this,” she muttered, and took a deep breath. “Shatter!”

The Orb _exploded_.

Belle squeaked, ducking and covering her head with her arms as shards of crystal flew everywhere, and then something hit her with a _thump_ , bearing her to the soft grass and knocking the breath from her. She struggled, arms tangling with someone else’s, and then all of a sudden the weight was lifted off her, and she blinked up into the soft light from the floating Orbs. A distressed young woman in a pink dress with shining brown hair and an agonised expression on her face was gazing down at her and wringing her hands.

“Oh!” she gasped, blinking rapidly. “Oh, my _goodness_! I’m so, so sorry, did I hurt you? Gosh, I’m so _clumsy_!”


	11. Chapter 11

Belle blinked up at the woman that had spoken. She was very pretty, with anxious eyes and a somewhat pleading smile. Her dress was an ill-fitting smock reaching to her knees, her pale, bare legs sticking out below the hem. In cut and drape, it reminded Belle somewhat of the garb she had seen the poorer female peasants wearing when doing laundry at the river. Although the peasants’ clothes were never pale pink and spotlessly clean. The woman shook her head.

“Goodness!” she said breathlessly. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” Belle assured her. “You’re a fairy, aren't you?”

She smiled, nodding, and held out her hand. Belle clasped it, and the fairy pulled her to her feet, steadying her with a pat on the shoulder.

“My name’s Nova,” she said. “Pleased to meet you - uh…”

“Belle.” 

Belle shook her hand gently, returning the warm smile.

“Well, I owe you a debt, Belle.” Nova released her hand and brushed herself down. “I thought I’d _never_ get out of there! Not even enough room to stretch your wings out and— Oh! Faewood trees!”

She rushed towards the trees, leaving Belle blinking after her, startled. Nova had grabbed a branch that was covered with the bell-shaped flowers and was shaking it. Glittering pollen scattered in the air, falling in her hair and onto her skin, and she inhaled deeply, smiling.

“Oh, that feels good!” she sighed. “I felt as though I was beginning to fade away in that cell. Fairy dust is what I really need. I don’t suppose you have any, do you?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Belle.

“Can’t have everything, I guess,” said Nova cheerfully, and plucked a handful of the flowers, shoving them in her mouth and closing her eyes with a noise of contentment.

“Uh…” Belle waited for her to stop chewing. “You said ‘cell’. So that was a prison, then? Who captured you? Was it pirates?”

“Pirates?” Nova had swallowed the flowers, and plucked another handful. “What would pirates want with me? Not really the type for wishes, I’ve found. One or two, maybe...”

“I read about it,” said Belle. “In a book. Those are Orbs of Avalon, correct?”

“Yeah.” Nova wrinkled her nose. “And no amount of hearing about what it’s like to be inside one prepares you for the reality, let me tell you. It was _cramped_.”

“So - so I read that the pirates of Smugglers Cove trade in them,” said Belle, fingers twitching on the strap of her satchel. “And - and that it’s dark magic that traps fairies in them.”

She refrained from mentioning the Dark One. If Rumplestiltskin couldn’t enter the grove, then he clearly hadn’t put the Orbs there. Not to say that he hadn’t created them in the first place, but she had decided to get more evidence before coming to a decision on that front.

“Oh.” Nova looked uncomfortable. “Well. I can’t say anything about pirates trading in them. I imagine they take all kinds of things that don’t belong to them, don’t they? But it wasn’t pirates that put me in there. It was the Blue Fairy.”

 _“What?”_ Belle took a step closer, mouth open. “The Blue Fairy put you in - in _prison_? Why?”

Nova sighed, pulling another handful of flowers and pushing away from the tree.

“She’s the head of our order,” she said. “And - and I’m sure that it’s a lot of responsibility and not something _I_ could ever do, so I don’t want you to think that I’m against organisation and order, because I’m not. I mean - I mean _someone_ has to schedule wish-granting drives and arrange mentors and training and decide which children to assign godmothers to…”

“I’m a Lady in a noble house,” said Belle wryly. “I know all about estate management, so I know that responsibility can weigh heavily on some people. So you’re right, organisation is important, and sometimes hard choices have to be made. It’s all in how you deal with it, and how your decisions affect those you are responsible for.”

“I - I guess so.” 

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t be kind,” added Belle. “I’ve always tried to be kind.”

“Yeah.”

Nova looked guilty, as though speaking ill of the Blue Fairy was weighing heavily on her, and Belle reached out to pat her arm comfortingly.

“So - tell me how you ended up in here,” she said, and Nova sighed.

“I was disobedient,” she said quietly. “I - I was supposed to be training to be a fairy godmother, and - well, I decided I wanted something more out of life, and - and I got punished for it.”

“What could you have wanted that was so terrible?”

Nova sighed again, picking at the blue flowers despondently.

“I fell in love,” she said simply. “But fairies aren’t _supposed_ to fall in love, you see. Blue broke us up. Told Dreamy we shouldn’t be together, that what he felt for me wasn’t real, that I needed to fulfil my destiny and that didn’t include him, and - and it broke my heart. And his, I think. I _know_ he loved me!”

She clutched the flowers to her chest, bowing her head, and Belle’s heart went out to her.

“True love is supposed to be the most powerful magic there is,” said Nova sadly. “You’d think Blue would want more of it in this world, wouldn’t you?”

“Indeed.”

“So - so I started talking about it to the other fairies,” she said, in a low voice. “Just a few. Tinkerbell, and - and a couple of others. They thought as I did, that there was no reason fairies couldn’t find love. And - and then Blue found out.”

She ducked her head again, eating more of the flowers. They seemed to be perking her up, her cheeks flushing a little, her eyes brighter.

“So she imprisoned you?” said Belle flatly. “For wanting to be loved. That’s terrible!”

“I was ‘abandoning my rightful path, breeding dissent and sowing the seeds of rebellion’,” said Nova, head held high and a lecturing tone to her voice, as though reading the words from an indictment. “She trapped me in one of the Orbs. Until I could be trusted to behave as a dutiful fairy should. So I ended up here. Where is ‘here’, anyway?”

“Oh…” Belle clutched the crystal wand a little tighter. “I got here through a kind of portal. I think - I think this is part of the fairy realms, but kind of - uh - sealed off from the rest.”

“That makes sense,” agreed Nova. “Blue wouldn’t want any of my sisters sneaking in here by accident and finding the prison. Good thing _you_ managed to get here!”

“Yes.” Belle looked around. “A prison, you say. Does that mean that every one of these Orbs holds a fairy?”

“Oh.” Nova bit her lip, looking upset. “Yeah. I don’t know how long they’ve been here, either. I know some of my sisters disappeared from time to time. I bet Tink is in one of these. She was always the most vocal of us when it came to standing up to Blue.”

She stepped closer to the Orbs, peering at them, and reached out to touch one that was glowing a soft shade of pale green. 

_The Blue Fairy is every bit as intolerant and interfering as Rumplestiltskin said_ , thought Belle. Aloud she said: “We could try to free them.”

“It’ll take more fairy magic than I have right now to free them all,” said Nova sadly. “Faewood pollen or not, I’m still weak. I really need some proper fairy dust. And a wand.”

“Well, I have this.” Belle held up the crystal, and Nova looked interested.

“I haven’t seen one like that in years!” she said. “Where did you get it?”

“I - ah - a friend gave it to me,” said Belle lamely. “I only just started learning to use magic, and - and he told me to be careful how much I used, so I don’t think I should break open all those prisons, either, even if I could. Do you think we could take them out of here, instead?”

Nova pursed her lips, then took the wand from Belle.

“I think we could carry them just fine,” she said, and swirled the end of the wand. Light flowed out of it, forming a glittering pink sack, and Nova let out a heavy sigh, shoulders slumping a little as the sack fell to the ground and the light from the wand winked out.

“Definitely need fairy dust,” she said morosely. “I feel as weak as a kitten. But at least we can rescue my sisters. Thank you again, Belle. I can never repay your kindness.”

“Perhaps you can,” said Belle slowly. “I came here to get something for my friend. He’s a prisoner too, in a way. I might need your help retrieving it.”

“Of course!” said Nova excitedly, and Belle turned back to the well.

“It’s down there,” she said. “Will you help me take a look?”

“Sure!”

Nova trotted over to the well, leaning on the edge.

“I was trying to read what’s written around the edge,” said Belle. “Can’t quite make it out. I have some knowledge of fairy language, but not enough to read this.”

“It says _‘light always triumphs over darkness’_. Oh!” Nova pressed a hand to her mouth. “It’s something dark. Down there. I can - I can feel it. Dark magic. I guess that’s why Blue put it in the well and covered it over.”

“Well, I need to get it back,” said Belle firmly. “It’s what’s keeping my friend trapped.”

“Right.” Nova looked uneasy. “Right. Well, if it’s to help someone…”

Belle could feel a crawling sense of guilt at keeping Rumplestiltskin’s identity to herself. Nova seemed everything that was sweet and kind, and had been trapped by Blue herself. Perhaps she would understand. _Or perhaps helping the Dark One would be a step too far, even for her. I’ll hold my tongue a little while longer._

“Help me take the cover off,” she said. “I need to take a look in this well, see what’s down there.”

Together they lifted the wooden cover off and set it by the side of the well. Almost at once Nova put a hand to her mouth, looking queasy.

“Dark magic,” she said thickly. “Ugh, it’s - it’s making me sick. I wonder at Blue, being able to stand it long enough to bring it here. What is it that’s trapping your friend?”

Belle didn’t answer. She bent over the edge of the well, peering inside. It stretched down as far as she could see, stone walls gleaming before the darkness took over, eating the light. Straightening up and glancing around, she saw the ball of light she had conjured, still hovering above them. It took only a small amount of concentration to make it fly towards them and drop into the well. She let it fall slowly, illuminating the walls as it went. About twenty feet down it stopped, hanging in mid-air.

“It must be there,” she muttered, and raised her voice. “I need to get down there. Is there anything we can use for rope?”

“The only well without a bucket, it seems,” said Nova, looking around. “I think we might have to use magic.”

“I suppose that makes sense, if the Blue Fairy put it there, she wouldn’t be expecting anyone but her to get it out.” Belle chewed her lip. “Do you think you could use the wand again? I’m not sure I have the skill to make a rope, but do you have the strength?”

Nova hesitated.

“I can try,” she agreed. “Give me the wand.”

Belle handed it over, and Nova took a deep breath, holding it up and moving it in a looping pattern. Strands of light poured out of it, weaving together in the air to form a long, gleaming rope that coiled on the ground at Nova’s feet. As the last of it fell, she slumped against the side of the well, breathing heavily, and Belle rushed to support her. 

“I just need a rest,” she said tiredly. “Can you help me over to the trees? Maybe a little more nectar and pollen will perk me up again.”

Belle helped her to walk, an arm around her waist, and Nova sighed with relief as she reached the nearest tree and slumped against the trunk. After a moment Belle sat down beside her. The grass was springy and comfortable, and she leaned back against the tree trunk with a sigh. Nova stretched her legs out in front, reaching up to pluck flowers from the branches above her, and Belle turned to her.

“Tell me about this love of yours,” she said. “Did you say his name is Dreamy?”

“Yes. We met in the mines. I tipped a load of fairy dust over him, and he didn’t even care!” Nova let her head roll back with a sigh. “I don’t care what Blue says. He loved me. He did!”

“I’m sure he did,” said Belle gently.

“Blue said dwarfs don’t love, that what he felt was just a dream, but I know his heart!” she insisted. “What we felt was _real_!”

“Dreamy is - a dwarf?”

Belle tried to keep the surprise from her voice, but Nova’s wry smile suggested that she hadn’t been completely successful.

“I realise it’s not exactly traditional,” she said. “Him working in the mines and me flying around in the sky; we’re like opposites, in a way. But maybe that’s what made us so special. And he’s so kind, and gentle. And he cared about the things that were important to me. We were going to run away together, and see the world!”

She looked excited at the memory, her eyes sparkling, and then she seemed to remember that she and Dreamy were no more, and her face fell. It was as though a cloud had covered the sun, and Belle felt a surge of empathy. _Different people can complement each other, make a strong and perfect partnership. Why can’t a dwarf and fairy find love together?_ She moved closer, putting a hand on Nova’s shoulder, and the fairy gave her a wobbly smile.

“Blue said I’d get over it,” she said. “And - and I tried, Belle, really I did! I tried to put my all into my training, to fill my life with the purpose I’d been given, but it was like every day was overcast and miserable, do you know what I mean?”

“You tried to do your duty,” said Belle slowly. “And each day it felt like you lost a tiny bit more of yourself.”

“Yes!” said Nova eagerly. “Yes, that’s it _exactly_!”

Belle smiled sadly.

“I know how that feels, believe me.”

“So - so after a while I couldn’t pretend to be happy any more,” went on Nova. “I admitted to myself that I still loved him, and - and I’m _sure_ he still loves me, and - and I don’t see why I can’t love someone and be loved by them _and_ do good things and make the world a better place!”

“I don’t see why you can’t, either,” agreed Belle.

Nova nodded firmly, and looked down at her clasped hands. The blue flowers were crushed and wilting, bruised by her fingers, and she peeled off a couple and popped them in her mouth.

“Perhaps you can find Dreamy,” suggested Belle. “When we get out of here, you can go and find him and the two of you can have a life together.”

“Yeah.” Nova looked sad. “I don’t think Blue would like that.”

“Well, she doesn’t rule over everything,” said Belle firmly. “If two people love each other, they should be allowed to be together, no matter what tradition says!”

Nova beamed at her, a spark in her eyes once more.

“You’re right,” she said. “I’ll find him, and we’ll see the world!”

She looked happy, almost blissful, and Belle was touched. _How could something that makes her so happy be wrong?_

“Right,” she said. “I’m going to go down into the well. Will you be alright here?”

“I’m already feeling a little better,” said Nova, gesturing with the flowers in her hand. “You should tie the rope around the tree, and tie the other end around your waist.”

Belle thought that was probably a sensible idea, so she gathered up the coiled rope and set about looping it around the tree trunk and tying it off, making sure the knots were secure. Nova watched her, chewing the blue flowers. A little colour had returned to her cheeks, and Belle hoped she was going to be alright. She wondered how long she had been trapped in her prison, and felt a surge of anger at the Blue Fairy.

“Right,” she said, giving the rope a final tug. “I think that’s safe. Wish me luck!”

“Good luck!”

Belle shouldered her satchel, gathering up the rope to drop one end into the well and pulling up her nightdress so that she could clamber onto the edge. She passed the rope around herself, holding it tight. The rope felt warm and secure in her hand, and she tried to calm her thumping heart. _You won’t fall. You’ll get down there, retrieve the dagger and get back out._ Nova was watching her anxiously, and Belle took a deep breath.

“Here I go,” she said, sounding calmer than she felt.

She slipped off the edge, the rope pulling taut and leaving her legs dangling in mid-air. Her heart was thudding in her chest, but she tried to slow her breathing, to calm herself. Bracing her feet against the wall helped to give her some stability, and she began slowly letting the rope slip through her hands, sinking lower into the well. The sunlight faded, but the light that she had created with magic was glowing bluish-white beneath her, and she felt something like relief when she drew level with it. Peering down, she sucked in a breath as she saw the dagger. It was hanging in the air, that faint blue glow around it, and she hesitated, unwilling to touch it.

“Belle?”

She looked up, and saw Nova’s head silhouetted against the sky.

“I’m alright,” she called. “I’ve found it. I’m just a little wary of touching it. If the Blue Fairy put it here, does that mean she’ll know if I take it?”

“Maybe,” said Nova. “Depends if there’s a binding spell in place around it. If you can see it, it looks like a chain. You can fix those so they’ll warn you if someone touches your spell work. D’you think she’s done that?”

 _It’s what I’d do if I wanted to make sure the Dark One stayed trapped_ , thought Belle, and let herself sink a little lower, until she was at eye level with the dagger. This close to it, she could see his name written on the blade, the edge fluted, the handle bound in black leather. There was a heaviness in the air around it, an oppressive feeling, and she wondered if it was from the spell, or the dagger itself. She reached into the satchel for the crystal wand. It was awkward, trying to keep hold of the rope and clutch the wand, but she managed it. Concentrating enough to summon the magic was more difficult. 

“Show me the spells that hold this dagger in place,” she whispered, and a pulse of light shot out from the wand, picking out what looked like the ghostly links of a chain, secured with a padlock. _Great. Less than an hour of magic-wielding and I’m supposed to break a fairy enchantment?_

“Ugh, that thing feels awful!” said Nova. “How can you stand to be near it?”

“Maybe it only affects fairies,” said Belle thoughtfully. “Looks like the binding spell’s in place. Any idea how I break it?”

“Without alerting Blue? I’m afraid not.” 

Belle sighed, frowning at the dagger sitting so tantalisingly out of reach.

“Right,” she said. “How long will it take her to get here, do you think?”

“Maybe five minutes?”

“Oh - blast it!” Belle kicked the wall in frustration.

“Unless…” Nova cut off. “Oh - maybe that’s silly, I don’t know…”

“No, I’ll try anything!” said Belle eagerly, looking up. “What’s your idea?”

“Well,” said Nova slowly. “The thing that’s bound by the spell - did it belong to your friend?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a - a kind of loophole in some of our spells.”

“A loophole?”

“Yeah. So, if a fairy is keeping something safe with the use of a binding spell - let’s say she’s been tasked by someone to protect something with her life, like - like a magical bracelet that has the power to do tremendous good in the right hands, but it would be disastrous if it fell into the _wrong_ hands, and the fairy _totally_ thought it was in a safe place, but then it gets found by exactly the person that wasn’t _meant_ to find it…”

Belle suspected that there was a story behind Nova’s ramblings, and at some point she wanted to hear it.

“How did they break the enchantment?” she asked.

“Well, it turns out that that particular enchantment can be broken by someone connected to the _owner_ of the object,” said Nova. “So in your case, that would be your friend. I think it comes from the time when the enchantment was first invented, when great families would often ask the fairies to protect any objects of great value they held. If the lords didn’t return from battle, their ladies or children would have to be able to retrieve the objects, you see.”

“Oh,” said Belle. “We’re not family, though. He doesn’t have any family, I don’t think.”

“Maybe not,” agreed Nova. “Maybe that’s why Blue chose that enchantment. Because she thought no one would be around to help him.”

_Of course. Who would help the Dark One, after all?_

“It doesn’t have to be a familial bond," added Nova. "But there has to be trust there. Does this friend trust you, do you think?”

Belle thought for a moment.

“I hope so,” she said. “Yes, I think he trusts me. He trusted me enough to tell me his secrets, anyway.” _Some of them. I imagine there are many more._

“There has to be love, too,” said Nova. “So I guess it depends how good a friend he is.”

“We - we haven’t known one another all that long,” admitted Belle. “He respects me, I think.”

“Oh.” Nova sounded disappointed. “In that case, I don’t know what to suggest. The feelings have to be strong.”

Belle licked her lips nervously, staring at the dagger. The blade seemed to glow, his name written there in black lettering. _Rumplestiltskin._

“Well, I suppose there’s no harm in trying,” she said, and reached out towards the dagger.


	12. Chapter 12

Belle’s heart was thumping hard as her hand inched towards the dagger, its presence oppressive, a heavy atmosphere pressing in on her from all sides. Her fingers seemed to reach a barrier in the air, a smooth, invisible surface as slick as ice. _The spell. I can’t touch the dagger until I break the spell._ She took a deep breath, her heart in her throat. The dagger gleamed with a bluish light, the letters of Rumplestiltskin’s name picked out in black along the blade. _I can only break the enchantment if there are strong feelings. Do they have to be mine or his? What does he feel for me, if anything? What do I feel for him?_

She closed her eyes, trying to remember all she could about him: his thin frame wrapped in leather and silk and his glittering skin and too-large eyes gleaming with mischief. The way he would grin almost proudly when she said something clever. The warmth of his touch when they danced. The memories made her smile, and as she felt something against her palm she closed her fingers instinctively. Her eyes shot open at the feel of smooth leather. She was holding the dagger, her hand wrapped around the hilt, and she gasped in delight.

“Do you have it?” called Nova, and Belle glanced up.

“I can touch it!” she replied. “I’m going to see if I can take it.”

“Be careful!”

Slowly, very slowly, Belle drew the dagger towards herself. It moved easily, and she shoved it in the satchel, heaving a sigh of relief.

“Okay, I got it!” she called. “I’m coming up!”

Climbing out of the well was far harder than climbing down, and Belle’s boots slipped and scuffed against the stone walls, the rope catching and pulling at her nightdress. _Should have taken Rumplestiltskin up on his offer of breeches there and then,_ she thought resignedly. _This thing’ll be in tatters by the time I get back._

Her arms ached by the time she got to the top, and Nova grabbed her, pulling her out until they both toppled over and fell on the soft grass. Belle lay on her back, breathing hard and gazing up at the curiously empty sky.

“You did it,” said Nova eventually. “You broke through Blue’s enchantment.”

“Looks like it.” Belle sat up, massaging her arms and looking around. “Your fairy sisters?”

“All in here.” Nova gestured towards the pink sack she had created, which was leaning against the side of the well, bulging with round objects. “I got all of them, and as soon as we get out of here and I get my hands on some fairy dust, I can free them! What about you? Do you think you can help your friend?”

“I hope so,” said Belle, instinctively patting the satchel. “He said this was what he needed.”

“May I see?”

Belle hesitated.

“I think we should get out of here while we can,” she said. “There’s no telling if Blue felt me take the thing, after all. I’d rather not be here if she turns up.”

“Good thinking,” said Nova fervently. “After you then, Belle. I have no idea where I’m going.”

Belle nodded, and Nova pulled her to her feet, patting her arm comfortingly before picking up her sack. Belle reached inside the satchel for the crystal wand, flinching at the feel of the dagger against her fingers. It felt oddly slick, as though it should be oily to the touch, and she felt as though she wanted to wipe her hand on her nightdress. Wrinkling her nose, she managed to grasp the cool shaft of the crystal wand, drawing it out of the satchel with a sigh of relief. _The sooner I get this thing to Rumplestiltskin the better._

Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and focused on the wand, feeling a trickle of magic flow through her.

“Show me the safest path back to where I entered this place,” she said aloud.

Opening her eyes, she saw a thin, gleaming trail leading out of the clearing and into the forest.

“Well done!” said Nova encouragingly. “Did you say you only just started to learn? You’re a natural!”

“It’s certainly easier than I thought it would be,” admitted Belle. “It does make you tired, though, doesn’t it?”

“I’m sure it gets easier with practice,” said Nova, as they set off. “I don’t know how humans can manage without fairy dust, but they do. I’ve met plenty of witches and sorcerers in my time, let me tell you.”

“Are there - light - sorcerers?” asked Belle, and Nova looked thoughtful.

“I’m sure there are,” she said. “I heard there was a good witch in a far-off land called Oz. She sent an emissary to the fairies once, seeking help with something. Blue didn’t tell us anything about it, of course.”

“She doesn’t seem to trust her fellow fairies all that much,” observed Belle, and Nova shrugged. 

“I think it’s just that she’s very strict on rules and discipline and doing things the way they’ve always been done,” she said. “I had only just started my training then. I was far too junior to be trusted with diplomatic secrets.”

“The only diplomacy I was trusted with was finding a decent marriage and securing our lands,” said Belle gloomily, and Nova looked interested.

“Of course, you said you were from a noble family. Who’s your fairy godmother?”

“Never had one,” said Belle. “The Blue Fairy said my house was too minor to bother with. Or - or words to that effect, anyway.”

“Oh.” Nova winced. “Sorry.”

“That’s alright. I was more offended by the fact that she wanted me to marry the terrible man my father has chosen for me.”

“Ugh.” Nova looked dejected, shoulders slumping as they traipsed along. “You’re being made to marry someone you don’t love?”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” said Belle firmly. “Come on, it’s this way.”

They skirted a large tree, following the glittering trail out of the grove and into the flower-filled meadows. 

“Did you say you came here through a portal?” asked Nova, as they climbed the grassy slope.

“Yes,” said Belle absently. “One moment I was standing in the library, and the next I was here.”

“I hope we can find our way back out again,” said Nova fervently. “Last time I tried to make a portal it kind of backfired. I wasn’t concentrating and I ended up in the middle of a fruit market.”

Belle giggled.

“I think we’ll be fine,” she said. “The trail is showing us the way, but now we’re out of the fairy grove, Rumplestiltskin should be able to guide us.”

Nova stumbled, snatching the sack of Orbs close to her as she tried to keep her balance, and Belle clicked her tongue in exasperation at speaking his name.

“Rumplestiltskin?” squeaked Nova, eyes wide. “The - the Dark One?”

“The very same.” Rumplestiltskin’s snide tone floated in the air around them, making Nova squeak again and clutch at Belle’s arm. “I see you’ve picked up a stowaway, my Lady. Careful! One flea carried into the castle, and you end up with an infestation.”

“She’s my friend,” said Belle firmly. “And she helped me retrieve your dagger, so I’ll thank you to be nicer to her.”

“Belle, was it the Dark One that sent you here?” asked Nova anxiously. “You’re - you’re _friends_ with the Dark One? The item you took from Blue - that was keeping him trapped, and you’re returning it?”

“Yes,” said Belle, her eyes on the trail. “He’s been nothing but kind to me, and he keeps his word. He’ll be able to help you, I’m sure of it.”

“If the price is right, perhaps.” Rumplestiltskin’s tone was dry.

“Blue will _never_ forgive me for this!” said Nova fretfully. “Freeing the fairies she imprisoned was bad enough, but this…”

Belle sighed.

“It was my doing, not yours,” she said. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t completely honest with you. I made a deal with him, you see. A friend of mine put herself in mortal danger to save me from the terrible man my father promised me to, and Rumplestiltskin saved her in turn, just as I asked. As payment, I offered to retrieve his dagger from Blue. She has him trapped, imprisoned, just as she imprisoned you. It wasn’t right.”

Nova was silent, but Belle could see the conflict in her eyes, evidence of some internal struggle.

“Blue always said the Dark One lied as easily as breathing,” she said quietly.

“So does she, when it suits her.” Rumplestiltskin’s voice made Nova jump again. “I never lie to those I deal with, thank you. Bad for business.”

“He’s never lied to me,” added Belle, and took Nova’s arm. “Come on. Let’s get out of this place and back to the Dark Castle. We can talk about it when we’re clear of Blue’s portal.”

Nova sighed, but fell into step beside her. They followed the twisting path, around the patch of flowers with their hypnotic, swaying movement and enticing scent and between grassy mounds. The trail was now back on the green path of grass that she had started out on, and Belle felt a surge of relief.

“Almost there,” she said, quickening her pace a little. “When I entered the realm it was—”

The flower-strewn meadows disappeared, the bright sky above winking out, and she stumbled, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dimmer light of Rumplestiltskin’s library. Nova clutched at her, almost falling, and Belle held her upright.

“Well well,” said Rumplestiltskin snidely, from beyond the doorway. “This one’s looking a little worse for wear, I must say. Out of fairy dust, are we?”

“She’s been locked up for the gods know how long,” said Belle sternly, an arm around Nova’s waist.

“Not my concern. My dagger?”

Belle sighed in frustration as Nova pushed herself upright and scowled at Rumplestiltskin. The two of them traded glares as she reached inside her satchel and retrieved the dagger. Rumplestiltskin’s eyes immediately fixed on it, his expression a strange mixture of loathing and longing. He took a step forward, rocking back on his heels as he seemed to hit an invisible barrier in the library doorway, and he pressed his palms against it, still staring hungrily. She licked her lips, the dagger feeling alien in her hands. Oily. Dirty.

“You hold the dagger,” he whispered hoarsely. “You control the Dark One. Do you know what power you could wield, my Lady?”

“I don’t want power,” she said immediately. 

“You could command me to do anything,” he said softly. “I could level kingdoms. Summon tempests. Rain down fire upon nations and raze cities to the ground.”

Something flickered to life in his eyes, something dark and ancient, burning inside, and Belle could feel her heart thump hard in her chest, fascination and fear making her skin tingle. Rumplestiltskin’s lips twitched, a brief smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he dropped his eyes. 

“But you wouldn’t want that, would you?” he said quietly. “Not you. You would think to use it for good. You could have me make barren lands fertile, end pointless wars, shower peasants with gold coins so they never know hunger again.”

“Belle,” said Nova nervously. “Belle, I really think—”

“I don’t want power,” repeated Belle, her tone firm. “And I made a deal in good faith. If holding the dagger gives me control over you, I return it to you. Whatever spell the Blue Fairy has cast on you, Rumplestiltskin, I release you from it.”

He seemed to sag, the barrier he was leaning against disappearing, and he staggered into the library, flailing for a moment to keep himself upright before snapping his heels together and brushing himself down with the air of one who had fully intended to almost fall on his face. Belle extended the dagger to him on the palm of her hand, and he took it almost reverently, turning it over in his hands, long fingers caressing every inch of it.

“Rumplestiltskin,” he whispered. “Rumplestiltskin is my name.”

“You can say it.” Belle beamed. “You’re free from the spell!”

“So it seems.”

There was a tiny smile on his face, his head bowed, his hands moving ceaselessly, black-nailed fingers stroking against leather and steel.

“You kept your promise,” he said quietly, not looking at her. “More than that. Our deal was for you to retrieve the dagger, not to release me from the enchantment. My debt to you grows each day, Lady Belle.”

“In that case,” she said, glancing at Nova. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind agreeing to help with something.”

The dagger stilled in his hands, and Rumplestiltskin looked up, eyes narrowing as they flicked between Belle and Nova.

“What’s in the sack?” he asked suspiciously.

“Orbs of Avalon,” said Belle. “Trapped fairies, dozens of them. Can you free them?”

“See?” Rumplestiltskin flapped a hand at Nova. “ _Infestation!_ I said so, didn’t I?”

“I doubt they’ll want to set up camp in the Dark Castle,” said Belle, in a dry tone. “And you did say you owed me a debt. Freeing the fairies and sending them somewhere safe should clear it.”

“We didn’t agree to terms!” he snapped.

“Perhaps not,” she acknowledged. “But think of it this way. All these fairies were imprisoned by Blue. For standing up to her. For speaking out of turn. For disagreeing with her decisions. You would be setting free dozens of fairies who can stand against the Blue Fairy and change the way that things are done.”

Rumplestiltskin tapped fingers against his lips, looking thoughtful.

“Well, anything that causes the Chief Gnat a headache has to be worth doing,” he said decidedly, and flicked his fingers, making the sack disappear.

There was a flurry of small explosions, the tinkling sound of breaking crystal, the air filled with flying shards of it, and Belle squeaked and covered her face with her arms, though none of the shards reached her. An excited cry made her open her eyes, and Nova had flung herself into the midst of a pile of bodies, fairies with hair that was dark and blonde and red and white, fairies in the same smock-like dress in a myriad of shades. They were all gasping and hugging and crying, their excited chatter rising in pitch as they got to their feet. It made an odd contrast with Belle and Rumplestiltskin, each standing in silence. She looked at him, and his eyes met hers as he wrapped his fingers around the dagger, holding it close to his heart.

“Lady Belle!” 

An excited voice made her glance around, and a pretty fairy with messy blonde curls and a green dress almost knocked her over with a hug.

“Nova said you freed us!” she said breathlessly. “I’m Tinkerbell. Thank you so, so much! I thought we’d never get out of there.”

“Oh.” Belle smiled, patting her back before easing out of the bone-crushing hug. “Well, it wasn’t really my doing, it was—”

“Yes, it was,” interrupted Rumplestiltskin hastily. “It was all your doing. Most heroic. A selfless act. Congratulations, Lady Belle.”

Belle shot him a flat look, but his words had attracted the attention of the fairies, all of whom were now looking nervous. They clustered together in a riot of colour, murmuring anxiously, and Rumplestiltskin gave them an unpleasant grin.

“I don’t suppose you want to be here,” he said. “Rest assured, the feeling is mutual. As luck would have it, I too can create portals, and I can rid this castle of your insufferable presence and have a little peace. Just tell me where you want to be.”

“The fairy realm!” said one excitedly, but was shouted down by her sisters.

“Don’t be an idiot!” 

“Blue and her followers would be on us in a moment!”

“We need to hide until we recover our strength!”

“I don’t have the energy to light a _candle_ right now!”

“So you need fairy dust, and plenty of rest,” interrupted Rumplestiltskin. “Luckily for you, I know of a place. A cave above the mines. Dark and dank, I expect, and therefore the last place you’ll be expected to hide. Plus there’s enough room for you all to - well, to do whatever fairies do as they wait for their magic to return.”

The fairies muttered, clustering together again.

“That’s the Dark One.”

“We can’t trust him.”

“The mines, though.” That was Nova. “I’d - I’d like to go to the mines. And we could get some fairy dust!”

“How do we know he won’t tell Blue where we are?”

“Because I have perhaps even more reason to hate that officious little flea than you do!” he snapped. “The offer is there, and you won’t get a better one, but I’m not waiting around all night. Tick tock!”

The fairies shared troubled looks, but seemed to come to an agreement without speaking. Nova stepped forward, head held high.

“We accept, Dark One,” she said. “Thank you.”

Rumplestiltskin grunted.

“You should thank the Lady Belle,” he said. “If it were up to me I’d be conjuring a very large fly swatter.”

Belle shot him an exasperated look, but was almost bowled over by Nova pulling her into a hug.

“Thank you, Belle,” she said, in a muffled voice. “The mines! You know what that means?”

Belle hugged her back, unable to keep the smile from her face.

“I hope you find him,” she whispered. “Let me know when you do.”

Nova nodded, pulling back with a somewhat wobbly smile on her face, and Belle patted her arms comfortingly.

“You’ll be safe too, won’t you?” said Nova seriously. “I don’t just mean here, I mean - I mean that man you spoke of.”

Belle wanted to shudder as she remembered her last encounter with Gaston.

“I’ll be alright,” she said. “I made a deal, remember?”

“As did we.” Nova shook her head. “Fairies, being helped by the Dark One. I could never imagine such a thing.”

“It was pretty far down on my wish list, I assure you,” said Rumplestiltskin sourly. “You could probably find it just below blowing my own balls off in a freak magic accident.”

Belle bit her lip, trying not to laugh even as her cheeks flushed, but Nova smiled.

“Well, perhaps this means we can cooperate again in the future,” she said airily. “Since you don’t object to acting on the side of good.”

She stuck out a hand, and Rumplestiltskin eyed it cautiously before shaking it.

“Good and evil are relative terms, dearie,” he said. “I won’t kill you next time I see you. That’s probably as good as it gets.”

“See?” chirped Nova. “Progress!”

Rumplestiltskin rolled his eyes, pulling his hand away and wiping it dramatically on his waistcoat. Nova turned on her toes.

“Let’s go, sisters!” she called.

“What do we do?” asked Tinkerbell.

“Just - move together a little more,” said Rumplestiltskin, one finger moving in a circle.

The fairies clustered together, linking arms and trying not to step on each others’ toes, and his finger lifted in the air.

“Bye, Belle!” called Nova.

Belle waved, and a plume of red smoke engulfed the fairies, dissipating and leaving nothing but a few fallen faewood flowers, crushed on the hardwood floor. She let out a sigh, suddenly very aware of how weary she was. Turning to face Rumplestiltskin, she saw that he was caressing the dagger again, watching her somewhat furtively.

“Thank you for doing that,” she said, and he shrugged.

“I never break a deal, my Lady.”

“I’m counting on that.”

A brief smile, and then he snapped his fingers, making the dagger disappear.

“You look tired,” he said. “It’s been an eventful evening.”

“Indeed it has.” She ran her hands over her face with a sigh. “I’m exhausted.”

“One snap of my fingers, and you can be back in your own bed,” he said, and she shook her head.

“Not yet, please,” she said. “I’ve had a little too much excitement to sleep, tired though I am.”

Rumplestiltskin tapped his fingers together, before gesturing to a comfortable-looking couch in a corner of the library.

“Then please sit down,” he said. “I could make some tea. If you like.”

“Thank you.”

It seemed to take an effort to pick up her feet, but she moved first one, then the other, stumbling towards the couch. Rumplestiltskin took her arm to steady her, and she sent him a grateful look as he helped her sit. Her nightdress was creased and damaged where the rope had pulled at it, showing tiny patches of pale skin, and she blushed, trying to pull her coat over herself. A snap of his fingers, and a thick, fur-lined cloak fell in her lap. Belle smiled, pulling it around herself and feeling warmth spread through her as a tea set appeared on the small table in front of them, steam coming from the spout of the teapot.

“Perhaps I should have brought cakes.”

Rumplestiltskin was frowning at the cups and saucers, and Belle shook her head.

“No, I’m not hungry. Please, sit down.” She patted the couch beside her. “It must be so nice to be back in your library again.”

“Yes.” 

He eased himself onto the couch, perched on the edge as though he wasn’t entirely sure how he had gotten there. She watched him looking around, eyes flicking from shelf to shelf.

“How long has it been?” she asked, and Rumplestiltskin turned to face her.

“Since I was trapped? A long time. Countless years.”

“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, and he smiled a little.

“No matter. It seems that things are looking up.”

“For both of us,” she said. “It’s a good thing I found that book.”

“A very good thing indeed.”

He reached out to pour the tea, an amber stream filling the delicate porcelain cups. Belle took hers, adding a little milk and stirring.

“Do you still have a connection to the book?” she asked thoughtfully. “If I were to use it in the same way, would it call you to me?”

“Not anymore,” he said. “Now that I have the dagger, I may come and go as I please without the need for such enchantments. You need only speak my name, my Lady, and I shall come to you. At any time.”

Belle took a sip of her tea, setting the cup down in the saucer.

“That is actually very comforting,” she admitted. “I have to confess I’m - scared - at the thought of returning to Sir Gaston’s castle.

Rumplestiltskin set down his cup, concern flitting across his features.

“I promise he won’t harm you,” he said. “He’ll be asleep three days, at least.”

“Which leaves another four for me to endure before the wedding,” she said. “You said you’d be there the day before, is that still the case?”

Rumplestiltskin nodded.

“I shall arrive with the setting sun,” he said, his eyes gleaming. “And I must ask that you pretend not to know me. It wouldn’t do to cause any suspicion that my presence there is down to you, hmm?”

“Well, I shall try,” she said. “Although I’m afraid I’m not a very good liar.”

“Simply play the part of a clueless noble,” he said, fingers flickering in the air. “They’ll recognise you as one of their own.”

Belle gave him a flat look.

“You don’t think much of the noble houses, do you?” she said, and he shrugged.

“I was never given a reason to think they cared for anyone but themselves,” he said. “That didn’t change with this.” He gestured up and down himself, and Belle sat forward, intrigued.

“So - so you were a man, once?” she said. “An ordinary man?”

“Far too ordinary, as it turned out.”

He sounded weary, and she wondered what his life had been like, before he became the Dark One.

“Did you have family?” she asked curiously.

A look of pain flashed across his face and was gone almost immediately.

“I did,” he said eventually. “A son. I lost him.”

“Oh.” Belle chewed her lip. “I’m - I’m so sorry.”

“Yes.”

He had hung his head a little, and she wanted to reach out to him, to touch him and send him comfort.

“Will you tell me about him?” she asked gently, and he turned his head to face her, a tiny smile curving his lips.

“Not tonight,” he said quietly. “But I shall see you again, my Lady. Once more, at least. Perhaps one day we’ll have time for that conversation.”

“I hope so,” she said. “I’ve learned so much from you in the short time we’ve known one another. I never imagined I’d be able to use magic!”

“It’s not often I have such a quick study,” he said, his smile widening.

“Well, perhaps there’s more you can teach me,” she said. “Perhaps I can help my people. It must be wonderful to be able to use one’s power for good.”

He was silent for a moment.

“Yes,” he said. “As I thought. At first.”

The few hints he had dropped of his life before the Dark Curse were making her burn with curiosity, but he drained his cup, placing it back on the table, and she sensed that their conversation was over. She drank her tea, and he took the cup from her, getting to his feet and holding out his hands to help her up. Belle stumbled a little as she shouldered her satchel, her legs wobbling, and he pulled her closer to steady her. She sucked in a breath, her heart thumping as his eyes met hers.

“Sunset,” he said. “Be ready.”

He released her hands, wrapping the cloak around her shoulders and gesturing with flicks of his fingers, and that familiar red smoke enveloped her.

When it cleared, Belle was back in her room, and she gasped and stumbled a little, grasping the back of the chair to keep upright. The broken shards of the water jug were gone, as was the spilled milk that Gerta had dropped, and she let out a breath, one hand pressed to her belly. It was still dark outside, and she undressed quickly, shoving the ruined nightdress to the back of a drawer and putting on a fresh one. Climbing into bed felt heavenly, and she laid her head against the cool pillows, feeling her body relax as it prepared for what sleep it could get before the maids woke her for breakfast. _He’ll come for me. He’ll come for me, and I shall be free._


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Numerous nods to canon in this chapter - I couldn't help myself

After her night of travelling through portals, freeing fairies and releasing the Dark One from the spell containing him, Belle was exhausted. She had hoped to sleep a little later than usual, but news of Gaston’s unconscious state had spread through the castle, and it was in uproar. Maurice himself hammered on Belle’s bedroom door when she was still in her dressing gown, pacing back and forth and ranting about how her intended might never wake up.

“What are we to do, Belle?” he asked, almost wringing his hands. “All those plans for a good marriage, for the merging of our lands! All gone if he dies! I should have insisted that you marry him weeks ago! I shouldn’t have let you talk me into all this _waiting_!”

“He slipped in his bath, you said.” Belle beckoned to Marilee to enter. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Has anyone sent for a healer?”

“Yes, but they won’t be here for hours!”

“Well, there seems little point in panicking,” said Belle. “I suggest we have breakfast and wait for the healer to arrive.”

“But the King is here!” persisted Maurice. “The guests! The _wedding_!”

“Isn’t for another week,” said Belle calmly. “If we have to postpone until he wakes up, then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll explain to the guests that Sir Gaston is ill and needs rest and quiet. We can see them off after breakfast.”

“How can you be so _casual_ about this?” demanded Maurice. “This man is to be your husband! You’re to own these lands after you’re wed! If he dies before he makes you his wife, I don’t know where I’ll find another suitor of his calibre!”

“I suggest we worry about that when it becomes an issue,” said Belle, her voice cool. “From what you say, Sir Gaston is very much alive. If a good deal quieter than usual.”

“The master’s a strong man, milord,” said Marilee diffidently, hands clasped at her waist. “If anyone can survive a blow to the head like that, it’s him. He’s taken worse while jousting.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose you’re right,” sighed Maurice, running a hand through his hair. “We must all pray for his swift recovery.”

“Of course,” said Belle neutrally. “We all want that. Marilee, I believe I’ll wear the green today.”

“Very good, milady.”

“Papa, I’ll see you at breakfast,” said Belle. “I’m sure Sir Gaston will be up and about and bellowing orders before you know it.”

Maurice gave her an exasperated look, but threw up his hands in defeat and stomped out. Belle sighed in relief. _A few days of peace. I shall make the most of it._

* * *

After breakfast, and once she had bid farewell to their guests and accepted their good wishes for Sir Gaston’s speedy recovery, she selected a book and casually asked Marilee to send the new maid to bring her parasol out to the garden. She walked amongst the last of the summer flowers, breathing in the scent of them. The autumn air was cool despite the sun, and the leaves on many of the trees were starting to turn, the treetops kissed with red and orange, as though fire was devouring them. The patter of footsteps on the path behind her made her turn, and she smiled as Gerta hurried up to her, parasol in her hands.

“Oh, milady, I’m so glad you’re safe!” she gasped. “I couldn’t sleep a wink last night for worrying!”

“I’m fine,” said Belle warmly, taking the parasol. “I take it the steward believed your story?”

“I’m not sure he even listened to me,” said Gerta, wrinkling her nose. “As soon as I said the master had fallen, he shoved me aside and went running. But never mind about me, milady, what about you? And - and _him_?”

“I did as I promised,” said Belle, smiling at the memory. “And a little more besides. The Dark One was content with our bargain, and considers it paid in full.”

“Thank goodness,” said Gerta, sounding relieved. “I was so worried that he might try to trick you. Do you think he’s right about the master? Will he really remember nothing?”

“If Rumplestiltskin says so, then I believe him,” said Belle. “He keeps his word. You’re safe, Gerta, I promise.”

Gerta hesitated, fingers twisting in her apron.

“It’s - it’s not my place, milady, but - but the master is - well, he’s - he’s not a kind man.”

“Indeed he is not,” said Belle dryly. “My father insists upon my marrying him, though. The wedding is in a week.”

“What if the master doesn’t wake up in time?” asked Gerta. “What if he forgets he’s supposed to be getting married? My uncle got kicked in the head by a cow once. Out cold for four days and when he came to he couldn’t remember anything past turning thirty-two. Bit of a shock for my aunt.”

“Rumplestiltskin said three days,” said Belle. “I suppose he understands how his magic works far better than I.”

“You say his name so easily,” whispered Gerta, her expression one of awe tinged with fear. “I think I’d be scared to, in case I called on him by accident. Making deals is all very well, but I can’t imagine what the Dark One might do if you disturbed him for nothing.”

“Well, he doesn’t frighten me,” said Belle. “I think he’s a good man, beneath it all. Better than he thinks he is.”

“Begging your pardon, but I think you try to see the best in everyone,” said Gerta, and Belle smiled.

“I do,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

* * *

Over the next two days, Belle had the most peaceful time she had enjoyed since arriving at Sir Gaston’s castle. She spent her days seated in the gardens with her books on magic, and her evenings shut away in the library, practising everything she had read. Maurice and the servants fretted over Gaston’s unconscious body, but the healer had inspected him, had shrugged and prescribed a poultice for the head wound.

“He’ll either wake or he won’t,” she said, with a matter-of-fact air that made the steward exchange uneasy looks with Sir Maurice. “Three days will tell, I reckon.”

There was only one thing to cause Belle distress, and that was the news of the approaching ogre horde. The servants returned from town full of stories of the horrors that awaited any men that tried to push the creatures back. Tales of the earlier Ogre Wars were told, in which thousands of men and even children had been drafted to stand against them, and had been cut down like barley. The tales made Belle uneasy; although there had been no battles against the ogres yet, it was only a matter of time before the King decided that he had to deal with the threat massing on the border of his realm.

On the third day, Gaston woke up.

Belle flinched at the sound of his disgruntled bellowing, audible even from behind the closed door of the library. She buried her nose in her book, eyes scanning the words of a new spell she had not yet mastered. A binding spell. It was far more complicated than anything else she had tried, and suitable only for defensive purposes, but she thought it a useful thing to learn, nonetheless. She thought she could see a way to adapt it, using something similar to the book she had used to call on the Dark One. A question for Rumplestiltskin, when she next saw him.

“Belle!”

Maurice burst into the library, breathless and red-faced, and she sighed and laid her book aside.

“Gaston is awake!” he said urgently. “Our prayers have been answered!”

_Your prayers, perhaps._

“Is he well?” she asked.

“As well as ever, and calling for ale!” laughed Maurice. “Come, I’ll take you to him. This wedding is happening, my girl!”

Belle wanted to sigh, but got to her feet. _Not if I have anything to say about it._

* * *

Rumplestiltskin had been true to his word. Gaston remembered nothing that had happened in her bedchamber, his last memories being of the hunt, and those somewhat hazy.

“Must have been riding at an incredible speed, to have knocked myself out like that,” he declared, banging his cup on the table to call for more ale. “Damn stag almost killed me, but I brought it down! No shame to fall in the hunt if you get back up again!”

“You fell in your bath,” said Belle, but he wasn’t listening, and Maurice glared at her.

“Have all preparations been made for the wedding feast?” asked Gaston, reaching for the plate of roasted pheasant and tearing off a leg.

“Everything is in hand, milord,” said the steward, bowing. “The King has sent word, though.”

He handed over a letter, and Gaston sniffed, wiping grease from his hands and breaking the wax seal to scan the letter.

“He plans to move against the ogres,” he announced. “The Duke’s army has marched on them today, and King George plans to join him in a week. He wants to know that he can count on my support. Seems like we’re headed to war, Sir Maurice.”

“But - fighting the ogres.” Belle shook her head. “The men will be slaughtered. Everyone has heard what happens to armies sent against them.”

Gaston snorted, handing the letter to Maurice..

“They’re not so tough,” he said. “My men and I have encountered ogres before, and they came off worse, believe me.”

“Then why do all reports that I hear suggest that the ogres are formidable?” asked Belle, and Gaston shrugged.

“Cowards will always find an excuse.”

“Indeed,” said Maurice, reading the King’s letter. “Still, they are not to be underestimated.”

“Perhaps we ought to delay the wedding until after the battle,” suggested Belle, and Gaston chuckled.

“What, with everything arranged? I think not. The battle is a week away. What difference will a few hours make?”

“It’ll mean a short honeymoon,” observed Maurice.

“Only takes one night, eh?” Gaston guffawed, slapping him on the back, and Maurice looked as uncomfortable as Belle felt.

“It means the King won’t be able to attend the wedding, of course,” said Gaston, reaching for the pheasant again. “Nor Prince James. No doubt Lady Belle will be disappointed.”

“Not at all, I assure you,” said Belle tonelessly.

“The ceremony can still take place,” said Maurice. “You can be married, and we can have a proper celebration when the ogres are defeated.”

“In eight days’ time, then,” said Gaston, and downed his ale in one.

* * *

The day before the wedding, Belle woke with a start, nerves making her belly flutter and tighten. _This evening he’ll come. What will he do? What will I say to him? I know what I_ want _to say, but will I get the chance?_

She could barely concentrate all through the day, but luckily Maurice and Gaston were closeted in the Great Hall, discussing the approaching ogre horde, and their possible plan of attack. Belle had her own preparations to make, and tried to summon all her concentration to channel magic through the crystal wand. Whether she had been successful in her attempts at magic would not become clear until she had to use what she had created.

As the sun sank towards the horizon, Belle had Marilee dress her in the gold gown that she had worn to the ball. Her wedding dress hung in the closet, along with a long veil of embroidered lace. It had been the wedding gown of Gaston's mother, with a frothy skirt of white gauze, crystals studding the bodice and a high collar edged with pearls. Belle hoped she would never have to wear the thing.

She made her way down to the Great Hall, a book tucked under one arm. The sound of raised voices reached her before she entered, and she found her father and Gaston bent over a map of the kingdom, rolled out on the large table with markers for troop movements. Shadows stretched long and thin on the floor, the setting sun going down in a blaze of fire.

“If the tales are true, this is a disaster in the making,” Maurice was saying. “We must change our plans. The King cannot hope to prevail.”

“The men were unprepared,” said Gaston shortly.

“The men were slaughtered!”

“The Duke’s auxiliaries!” Gaston straightened, scowling. “Thieves and cutpurses, for the most part, not proper troops! What were they thinking, attacking before the King’s armies joined them?”

“What has happened?” asked Belle, and both men looked around.

“A minor setback,” said Gaston, waving a hand.

“A battalion of the Duke’s soldiers came upon three of the ogre scouts,” said Maurice curtly. “They attacked, and the ogres destroyed them. Almost to a man. The stories of the ogre horde are true. This is not a war that can be won by force.”

“The King thinks otherwise!” snapped Gaston.

“Then the King is a fool.”

Gaston pounded the table with his fist.

 _“We do not run from these creatures!”_ he shouted. “They run from _us_! Shall I tell the King you turned traitor?”

“My father is no traitor,” said Belle, glaring at him. “But no more is he an idiot. If the war is unwinnable, we must find a way to make peace.”

“You cannot _reason_ with these creatures!”

“Has anyone tried?” she retorted.

“We have to do something,” said Maurice desperately. “We have to stop them!”

“Well, perhaps you can.”

A snide, familiar voice came from behind them, and Belle turned on her toes to see Rumplestiltskin lolling in Gaston’s chair, eyes alight with mischief. He was dressed from head to foot in tight black leather, the collar of his coat standing high, brushing the curls of his hair. Belle felt her heart begin to thump hard. _He came! He’s here!_

“Who are you?” asked Maurice roughly, and Rumplestiltskin bounced out of the chair, bending one leg in an elaborate bow.

“Rumplestiltskin,” he announced. “Or as others know me, the Dark One.”

“The Dark One,” breathed Maurice. “The most powerful man in all the realms.”

“He’s an evil imp,” said Gaston sourly. “We need no dark magic here.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” said Rumplestiltskin lazily. “The ogres are quite upset, you know. Only blood will suffice. The blood of one person in particular.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Belle, and he eyed her for a moment, his gaze dropping briefly to the book in her arms before flicking back to her eyes.

“I heard an interesting tale from the ogres,” he said.

“You - you _spoke_ to the ogres?” asked Maurice.

“The most important part of deal-making,” said Rumplestiltskin. “Is finding out what the other party wants more than anything. Take the ogres, for example. They spoke of a dark-haired man in a red doublet, who kidnapped one of their children several weeks ago, and tortured him. What they want, more than anything, is that man's head on a spike.”

He pointed at Gaston, and Belle felt her mouth fall open.

“So I tortured one of them,” said Gaston, with a shrug. “So what? How else would I find out what my men might face when going against them? Everyone’s heard of the Ogre Wars. Their numbers have been swelling for years. It was only a matter of time before they attacked again. We had to be prepared for what might come.”

“You tortured a _child_?” said Belle, horrified.

“It wasn’t human!”

“What difference does that make?”

“Like I said,” interrupted Rumplestiltskin. “His head on a spike. A simple enough request to prevent all that war and bloodshed.”

“Begone, demon!” snarled Gaston. “My men are loyal to _me_! No one will betray me on the words of a twisted little imp!”

Rumplestiltskin pursed his lips, shrugging.

“In that case,” he said. “I could offer the ogres something else. You have mountains to the east, enough space to allow them to settle down and live peacefully. I’m sure they could be persuaded to call off this war in exchange for a place to call their own.”

“Yes!” said Maurice eagerly. “The mountains straddle both my land and Sir Gaston’s. I say yes.”

“I say that the Dark One is not to be trusted,” said Gaston suspiciously. “Why would he do this great favour and ask nothing in return?”

“Oh, you’re right, there is a price,” agreed Rumplestiltskin, tapping his fingers together. He seemed to be enjoying their discomfort, his eyes twinkling. Belle felt as though her heart would beat its way through her chest.

“We have gold!” said Maurice. “I’m sure the King would contribute, he—”

“Ah.” Rumplestiltskin shook his head regretfully. “No, you see, I _make_ gold. What I want is something a bit more - special.”

He was pacing, slow, swaggering steps, circling around the two men.

“My price,” he said. “Is her.”

He had turned on his toes, pointing at Belle, and Maurice let out a sound of horror. Belle met Rumplestiltskin’s gaze with her head held high, and he winked.

“The young lady is engaged,” said Gaston harshly. “To me!”

He stepped in front of Belle, and she frowned at his back, slipping around him again. Gaston threw an arm up in front of her, keeping her in place.

“I wasn’t asking if she was engaged.” Rumplestiltskin waved a hand, looking amused. “I’m looking for an apprentice. And I want her.”

“What, so you can turn her into your whore, Dark One?” he sneered. “I think not.” 

Belle opened her mouth angrily, but Rumplestiltskin tutted, shaking his head.

“I said an apprentice,” he said. “Not a lover.” 

“You expect me to believe that you’d take someone of Lady Belle’s face and form and _train_ her in _magic_?”

“What do her looks have to do with her potential?” Rumplestiltskin sounded genuinely baffled. “I asked for an apprentice. She doesn’t need to be pretty to mix potions, and the fact that your mind took a swan-dive into the gutter is hardly my concern.”

“She doesn’t know one end of a wand from the other!” Gaston’s tone was jeering. “She’s - she’s just a _girl_! She has no ability beyond embroidery!”

Belle could feel anger rising in her at Gaston’s incredulity at anyone seeing anything beyond her beauty. She was about to inform him exactly where she would shove the next magic wand she found, but Rumplestiltskin caught her eye briefly, as though he could read her mind. She sank back on her heels, glowering at Gaston’s back.

“Well, perhaps my assessment of her abilities is more accurate than yours,” said Rumplestiltskin. “It’s her, or no deal.”

“But - but - she’s betrothed!” said Maurice, looking appalled. “The King himself agreed to the match!”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged.

“He’s not my king.”

“They’re to be married tomorrow!” persisted Maurice.

“Oh, inviting the ogres to the wedding breakfast, are you?” said Rumplestiltskin snidely. “How very open-minded of you. Be sure to provide extra ale, I hear they have a head for it.”

“But…” Maurice looked to be almost wringing his hands, glancing desperately at Gaston, who stepped in front of Belle again, throwing out his chest and rolling his shoulders to make himself look even bigger than he was.

“She was promised to _me_!” he shouted, jabbing a thumb at his chest. “She is _mine_ , Dark One! Choose another!”

“You speak of the lady as though she were a possession to be handed around,” drawled Rumplestiltskin. “Isn’t the decision hers, not yours? Perhaps she would find more purpose in becoming a sorcerer’s apprentice than in - well, whatever dull provincial life you have to offer her. The lady as my apprentice, in return for dealing with the ogre threat. That is my final offer.”

“Get out!” said Maurice sharply. “Leave!”

Rumplestiltskin gave a lazy shrug.

“As you wish,” he said, swivelling on his heels and sauntering towards the door.

“No, wait!”

Belle slipped out from behind Gaston, dodging his grasping hand and circling her father. She stepped in front of Rumplestiltskin, who was tapping his fingers together, his eyes gleaming at her and a hint of amusement in the twist of his mouth, as though he was enjoying himself. Belle raised her chin.

“I will go with him,” she said decidedly.

“I forbid it!” shouted Gaston, as Maurice reached for Belle, mouth wide open in horror.

“No one decides my fate but me,” snapped Belle. “I shall go.”

“You’ll do as I tell you!” thundered Gaston, his eyes flashing as he jabbed a finger at the floor between his feet. “I won’t have my wife-to-be carried off by the Dark One to be his _slut_! Don’t you know how our people will see this? Don’t you care how this makes me look?” 

“Your reputation would be in tatters, Belle!” added Maurice wretchedly. “If you go with this creature you will never be part of our society again! You will be shunned, and I too, for letting it happen!”

“Society is overrated,” remarked Rumplestiltskin.

“Out!” shouted Gaston. “Go back to your lair, you twisted creature!” 

“Certainly,” said Rumplestiltskin. “If the lady will accompany me.”

“She will not be your whore!”

“Sir Gaston is right,” said Belle loudly.

“See?” Gaston gestured at her. “Belle knows this is madness! Begone, imp! I’ll have the Blue Fairy banish you to the deepest pits of the underworld!”

“Sir Gaston is right,” repeated Belle, frowning at his interruption. “If I go with you as your apprentice, the world will call me your whore. No matter how honourably you treat me.”

 _“Honourably?”_ Gaston let out a hollow laugh.

“So I will go with you,” continued Belle. “If you’ll take me as your wife.”

She had seen surprise on Rumplestiltskin’s face before: a hint of a smile when she had said something clever, a flick of his eyebrows at a question she had asked, but she had never seen him shocked. His eyes almost bulged out of his head, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. 

“Have you lost your _mind_?” thundered Gaston, stomping forward. “You can’t seriously be suggesting that—”

Rumplestiltskin flicked his fingers almost contemptuously, and Gaston was silenced, mouth opening and closing. He also appeared to be frozen in place, his face turning red with rage as he glared at Belle. She decided to take advantage of his silence, and turned her attention to Rumplestiltskin, who was staring at her with that same wide-eyed look of disbelief.

“It seems a fair exchange to me,” she said. “After all, my father was happy to give my hand to Sir Gaston for the sake of land and gold. Surely if the bride-price is an end to death and destruction for all the people in this kingdom, the King could not object.”

“Belle, this is _madness_!” hissed Maurice.

“No, Papa, it’s good sense,” she retorted. “You said yourself that you wanted a good match for me in terms of wealth and status. I imagine that the Dark One must have an impressive estate.”

“It is - rather large.” Rumplestiltskin appeared to have found his voice again. “But - my Lady, please think this through...”

“I have,” she said simply. “I’ve watched my father and Sir Gaston and the other nobles argue and bicker over strategy and I have counted the cost in potential lives lost if we do not stop the ogre horde. You can stop them, can you not?”

She had stepped up to him, almost close enough to touch, Rumplestiltskin licked his lips, a brief flick of his tongue, as though he was nervous.

“I can,” he said.

“And do you have any objection to taking me as a wife?” she asked. His eyes flicked left and right, as though he was uncertain whether he was really there.

“I - no, no objection,” he said. “But your father speaks the truth. Married or not, you will be shunned by your peers if you choose me. You will have chosen exile, and censure.”

“I will have chosen a man who values me for more than my beauty,” she said clearly. “A man who brought peace to our lands, and saved countless lives. If the nobles of this land shun me for that, I shall count it a worthy sacrifice.”

He was staring at her with something like wonder, his eyes wide, and she watched his fingers twist in the air, a nervous motion. She arched an eyebrow at him.

“Do we have a deal?”


End file.
